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^•Vol.6,No.S«l. Oct, 2IUSR5. Annu m\ Subscription, $50. oa. V 

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MASTER 
HUMPHREY’S 

CLOCK 

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CHARLES DICKENS. 

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ntered at tbe Post Office, N. Y., mi seooiid-clav* matter. 
CV>T v> ; e )p, JJitS, bv .tOHN W I OVETT Co. 


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LOVELL’S LIBRARY-CATALOGUE. 


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30. 
81. 

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£9. 

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59. 


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8i. 


Hyperion, by H. W. Longfellow. .20 
Outre-Mer, by H. W. Longfellow. 20 

The Happy Boy, by BjOrn son 10 

Arne, by BjOrnson 10 

Frankenstein, by Mrs. Shelley... 10 

The Last of the Mohicans 20 

Clytie, by Joseph Hatton 20 

The Moonstone, by C ollins, P’t 1. 10 
The Moonstone, by Collins, P’t II. 10 
Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens. 20 
The Coming Race, by Lytton. . . . 10 

Leila, by Lord Lytton .10 

The Three Spaniards, by Walker. 20 
TheTricks of the GreeksL T nveiled.20 
L’Abbe Constantin, by Hal6vy..20 
Freckles, by R. F Redcliff. . ..20 

The Dark Colleen, by Harriett Jay .20 
They Were Married! by Walter 

Besant and James Rice.. .10 

Seekers after God, by Farrar 29 

The Spanish Nun, by DeQuincey.10 

The Green Mountain Boys 20 

Fleurette, by Eugene Scribe 20 

Second Thoughts, by Broughton. 20 
The New Magdalen, by Collins.. 20 

Divorce, by Margaret Lee 20 

Life of Washington, by Henley.. 20 
Social Etiquette, by Mrs. Saville.15 
Single Heart and Double Face. .10 

Irene, by Carl Detlef 20 

Vice Versa, by F. Anstey 20 

Ernest Maitravers, by Lord Lytton20 
The Haunted House and Calderon 
the Courtier, by Lord Lytton.. 10 
John Halifax, bv Miss Mu Jock. . .20 

800 Leagues on the Amazon 10 

The Cryptogram, by Jules Verne.10 

Life of Marion, by Horry 20 

Paul and Virginia. 10 

Tale of Two Cities, by Dickens. .2 ) 

The Hermits, by Kingsley 20 

An Adventure in Thule, and Mar- 
riage of Moira Fergus, Black .10 

A Marriage in 1 igh Life 20 

Robin, by Mrs. Parr. . 20 

Two on a Tower, by Thos Hardy .20 

RasseiaS, by Samuel Johnson 10 

Alice; or, the Mysteries, being 
Part II. of Ernest Maitravers. .20 
Duke of Kandos. by A. Mathey.-..20 

baron M unchansen . . . . 10 

A Princess of Thule, by Black. 20 
The Secret Despatch, by Grant, 20 
Early Days of Christianity, by 
Canon Farrar, D D , Part I. . . .20 
Early Days of Christianity, Pt. 11.20 
Vicar of Wakefield, by Goldsmith. 10 
Progress and Poverty, by Henry 

George 20 

The Spy, by Cooper. .20 

East Lynne, by Mrs Wood... 20 
A Strange Story, by Lord Lytton... 20 

Adam Bede, by Eliot, Part I 15 

Adam Bede, Part II 15 

The Golden Shaft, by Gibbon 20 

Portia, by The Duchess 20 

Last Days of Pompeii, by Lytton .20 
The Two Duches°o*, by Mathey. .20 
Tom Brown a School Days.’... 20' 


62. The Wooing O’t, by Mrs. Alex- 

ander, Parti — 15 

The Wooing O’t, Part 11 15 

63. The Vendetta, by Balzac 20 

64. Hypatia, by 1 has. King-ley, P’tl.15 
Hypatia, by Kingsley. Part II ... 15 

65. Selma, by Mrs. J. G. Smith 15 

66. Margaret and her Bridesmaids. .20 

67. Horse Shoe Robinson, Parti — 15 
Horse Shoe Robinson, Part H. . . 1 5 

68. Gulliver’s Travels, by Swift 20 

69. Amos Barton, by George Eliot... 10 

70. The Berber, by W E. Mayo. .1. .20 

71. Silas Marner, by George Eliot. . .10 

72. The Queen of the County 20 

73. Life of Cromwell, by Hood... 15 

74. Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Broutd.20 

75. Child’s History of England 20 

76. Molly Bawn, by The Duchess. . .20 

77. Pill no, bv Wiliam Bergsoe 15 

78. Phyllis, by The Duchess 20 

79. Romola, by Geo. El iot, PaTt I ... 1 5 
Romola, by Geo. Eliot, Part 11. .15 

80. Science in Short Chapters 20 

St. Zanoni, by Lord Lytton 20 

82. A Daughter of Heth 20 

83. The Right and Wrong Uses of 

the Bible, R. Heber Newton... 20 

84. Night and Morning, Pt. 1 15 

Night and Morning. Part II 15 

85. Shandon Bells, by Wm. Black.. 20 

86. Monica, by the Duchess.. . ....10 

87. Heart and Science, by Collins... 20 

88. The Golden Calf, by Braddon.. .20 

89. The Dean’s Daughter 20 

90. Mrs. Geoffrey, by 'J he Duchess. ,20 

91. Pickwick Papers, Part I.... 20 

Pickwick Papers, Part IT 20 

92. Airy, Fairy Lilian, The Duchess . 20 

93. McLeod of Dare, by Wm. Biack.20 

94. Tempest Tossed, by Tilton Ptl 20 
Tempest To9sed,by Tilton, P'tII20 

95. Letters from High Latitudes, by 

Lord AJuUerin 20 

96. Gideon Fle ce, by Lucy 20 

97- India and Ceylon, "by E. Breckel. .20 

! 93. The Gypsy Queen 20 

99. The Admiral’s Ward 20 

100. !• import, by E L. Bynner,, P’t I.. 15 
Nimport. byE. L Bynner, P’tII.15 

101. Harry Holbrooke 20 

102. Tritons, by E. L. Bynner, P’t I. ..15 
Tritons, by E. L. Bynnc r , i t. II ,„5 

103. Let Nothing You Li may, by 

Walter Besant 10 

104. Lady Audiey’e Secret, >y Miss 

M .'E. Braddon ’ 20 

105. Woman’s Place To-day by Mrs. 

I Lillie Devereux Blake 20 

000. Xtunallan, by Kennedy, Parti... 15 
, tymaban, by Kennedy, Part II. .15 
jjfip. «Mouse Keeping and Home-malt* 

* ing. by Marion HaHai.d 15 

1^8. No New Thing, by W E. Norris. 20 

109. The Spoopendyke Papers 20 

110. False Hopes, by Goldwin Smith. 1 

1 111. Labor ana Capital 8*. 

i 112, War.da, by Onida. PartX 13 

Waftda, by Ouida. Partll ...... •* 


ENOCH MORGAN’S SONS’ 



How to Beautify the Complexion. 

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Frlcc, 75c. per Bottle. J»epot, 83 John St., N. Y. 


SECRET OF BEAUTY 


♦ — — 

SOW TO BEAUTIFY THE COMPLEXION. 


ALL Women know that it is beauty rather than gen- 
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LAIRD'S S L 0 0 OF YOUTH. 



I WAS DREADFULLY AFRAID 
THAI HORRID FEVER WOULD 
RUIN M/ GOMFLEXION TOR LIFE. 
BUT I.aIRO 3 BLOOM OF YOUTH 
H A3 SET i LbD THAT QUESTION 

wit:; a lov_ly . ucgfss. 


PCI', SAAX-.Ti; X3~2 

Druggists and Fancy Goods Dealers, 
pepot: S3 JOHN STREET* NEW YO RK. 


MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK. 


i. 


MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN 
THE CHIMNEY-CORNER. 

The reader must not expect to know where I live. At 
present, it is true, my abode may be a question of little or no 
import to anybody, but if I should carry my readers with me, as 
I hope to do, and there should spring up, between them and me, 
feelings of homely affection and regard attaching something of 
interest to matters ever so slightly connected with my fortunes 
or my speculations, even my place of residence might one day 
have a kind of charm for them. Bearing this possible contin- 
gency in mind, I wish them to understand in the outset, that they 
must never expect to know it. 

I am not a churlish old man. Friendless I can never be, 
for all mankind are my kindred, and I am on ill terms with no 
one member of my great family. But for many years I have 
led a lonely, solitary life ; — what wound I sought to heal, what 
sorrow to forget, originally, matters not now ; it is sufficient that 
retirement has become a habit with me, and that I am unwilling 
to break the spell which for so long a time has shed its qwiet in- 
fluence upon my home and heart. 

I live in a venerable suburb of London, in an old house, 
which in by-gone days was a famous resort for merry roysterers 
and peerless ladies, long since departed. It is a silent, shady 
place, with a paved court-yard so full of echoes that sometimes 
I am tempted to believe that faint responses to the noises of old 
times linger there yet, and that these ghosts of sound haunt my 
footsteps as I pace it up and down. I am the more confirmed 
in this belief, because, of late years, the echoes that attend my 

(489) 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


49 ° 

walks have been less loud and marked than they were wont to 
be ; and it is pleasanter to imagine in them the rustling of silk 
brocade, and the light step of some lovely girl, than to recog- 
nize in their altered note the failing tread of an old man. 

Those who like to read of brilliant rooms and gorgeous 
furniture would derive but little pleasure from a minute de- 
scription of my simple dwelling. It is dear to me for the same 
reason that they would hold it in slight regard. Its worm-eaten 
doors, and low ceilings crossed by clumsy beams ; its walls of 
wainscot, dark stairs, and gaping closets ; its small chambers, 
communicating with each other by winding passages or narrow 
steps ; its many nooks, scarce larger than its corner-cupboards ; 
its very dust and dullness, all are dear to me. The moth and 
spider are my constant tenants, for in my house the one basks 
in his long sleep, and the other plies his busy loom, secure and 
undisturbed. I have a pleasure* in thinking on a summer’s 
day, how many butterflies have sprung for the first time into 
light and sunshine from some dark corner of these old walls. 

When I first came to live here, which was many years ago, 
the neighbors were curious to know who I was, and whence I 
came, and why I lived so much alone. As time went on, and 
they still remained unsatisfied on these points, I became the 
centre of a popular ferment, extending for half a mile round, and 
in one direction for a full mile. Various rumors were circulated 
to my prejudice. I was a spy, an infidel, a conjuror, a kidnapper 
of children, a refugee, a priest, a monster. Mothers caught up 
their infants and ran into their houses as I passed ; men eyed 
me spitefully, and muttered threats and culrses. I was the 
object of suspicion and distrust ; ay, of downright hatred, too. 

But when in course of time they found I did no harm, but, 
on the contrary, inclined towards them despite their unjust 
usage, they began to relent. I found my footsteps no longer 
dogged, as they had often been before, and observed that the 
women and children no longer retreated, but would stand and 
gaze at' me as I passed their doors. I took this for a good 
omen, and waited patiently for better times. By degrees I be- 
gan to make friends among these humble folks, and though 
they were yet shy of speaking, would give them “ good-day,” 
and so pass on. In a little time, those whom I had thus 
accosted, would make a point of coming to their doors and win- 
dows at the usual hour, and nod or courtesy to me ; children, 
too, came timidly within my reach, and ran away quite scared 
when 1 patted their heads and bade them De good at school. 
These little people soon grew more familiar. From exchanging 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


49 1 


mere words of course with my older neighbors, I gradually be- 
came their friend and adviser, the depositary of their cares and 
sorrows, and sometimes, it may be, the reliever, in my small 
way, of their distresses. And now I never walk abroad, but 
pleasant recognitions and smiling faces wait on Master 
Humphrey. 

It was a whim of mine, perhaps as a whet to the curiosity of 
my neighbors, and a kind of retaliation upon them for their 
suspicions, — it was, I say, a whim of mine, when I first took up 
my abode in this place, to acknowledge no other name than 
Humphrey. With my detractors I was Ugly Humphrey. When 
I began to convert them into friends, I was Mr. Humphrey, 
and Old Mr. Humphrey. At .length I settled down into plain 
Master Humphrey, which was understood to be the title most 
pleasant to my ear; and so completely a matter of course has 
it become, that sometimes when I am taking my morning, walk 
in my little court yard, I oyerhear my barber — who has a pro- 
found respect for me, and would not, I am sure, abridge my 
honors for the world — holding forth on the other side of the 
wall, touching the state of “ Master Humphrey’s ” health, and 
communicating to some friend the substance of the conversation 
that he and Master Humphrey have had together in the course 
of the shaving which he has just concluded. 

That I may not make acquaintance with my readers under 
false pretences, or give them cause to complain hereafter, that 
I have withheld any matter which it was essential for them to 
have learnt at first, I wish them to know — and I smile sorrow- 
fully to think that the time has been when the confession would 
have given me pain — that I am a misshapen, deformed old 
man. 

I have never been made a misanthrope by this cause. I 
have never been stung by any insult, nor wounded by any jest 
upon my crooked figure. As a child I was melancholy and 
timid, but that was because the gentle consideration paid to my 
misfortune sunk deep into my spirit and made me sad, even in 
those early days. I was but a very young creature when my 
poor mother died, and yet I remember that often when I hung 
around her neck, and oftener still when I played about the room 
before her, she would catch me to her bosom, and bursting into 
tears, would soothe me with every term of fondness and affec- 
tion. God knows I was a happy child at those times, — happy 
to nestle in her breast, — happy to weep when she did, — happy 
in not knowing why. 

These occasions are so strongly impressed upon my memory, 


49 2 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


that they seem to have occupied whole years. I had numbered 
very, very few when they ceased forever, but before then their 
meaning had been revealed to me. 

1 do not know whether all children are imbued with a quick 
perception of childish grace and beauty, and a strong love for 
it, but I was. I had no thought that I remember, either that I 
possessed it myself or that I lacked it, but I admired it with an 
intensify that I cannot describe. A little knot of playmates — 
they must have been beautiful, for I see them now — were clus- 
tered one day round my mother’s knee in eager admiration of 
some picture representing a group of infant angels, which she 
held in her hand. Whose the picture was, whether it was 
familiar to me or otherwise, or how all the children came to be 
there, I forget ; I have some dim thought it was my birthday, 
but the beginning of my recollection is that we were all together 
in a garden, and it was summer weather, — I am sure of that, 
for one of the little girls had roses in her sash. There were 
many lovely angels in this picture, and I remember the fancy 
coming upon me to point out which of them represented each 
.child there, and that when I had gone through my companions, 

I stopped and hesitated, wondering which was most like me. 

I remember the children looking at each other, and my turning 
red and hot, and their crowding round to kiss me, saying that 
they loved me all the same ; and then, and when the old sorrow 
came into my dear mother’s mild and tender look, the truth 
broke upon me for the first time, and I knew, while watching 
my awkward and ungainly sports, how keenly she had felt for 
her poor crippled boy. 

[ used frequently to dream of it afterwards, and now my 
.heart aches .for that child as if I had never been he, when I 
think how often he awoke from some fairy change to his own* 
old form, and sobbed himself to sleep again. 

Well, well — all these sorrows are past. My glancing at 
them may not be without its use, for it may help in some 
measure to explain why I have all my life been attached to the 
inanimate objects that people my chamber, and how I have 
come to look upon them rather in the light of old and constant 
friends, than a^ mere chairs and tables which a little money 
could replace at will. 

Chief and first among all these is my Clock, — my old, 
cheerful, companionable Clock. How can 1 ever convey to- 
others an idea of the comfort and consolation that this old 
clock has been for years to me ! 

ft is associated with my earliest recollections. It stood 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


493 


upon the staircase at home (I call it home still mechanically), 
nigh sixty years ago. I like it for that, but it is not on that 
account, nor because it is a quaint old thing in a huge oaken 
case curiously and richly carved, that I prize it as I do. I 
incline to it as if it were alive, and could understand and give 
me back the love I bear it. 

And what other thing that has not life could cheer me as it 
does ; what other thing that has not life (I will not say how 
few things that have) could have proved the same patient, true, 
untiring friend ! How often have I sat in the long winter 
evenings feeling such society in its cricket-voice, that raising 
my eyes from my book and looking gratefully towards it, the 
face reddened by the glow of the shining fire has seemed to 
relax from its staid expression and to regard me kindly ; how 
often in the summer twilight, when my thoughts have wandered 
back to a melancholy past, have its regular whisperings recalled 
them to the calm and peaceful present ;«toow often in the dead 
tranquillity of night has its bell broken the oppressive silence, 
and seemed to give me assurance that the old clock was still a 
faithful watcher at my chamber door ! My easy-chair, my 
desk, my ancient furniture, my very books, I can scarcely bring 
myself to love even these last, like my old clock ! 

It stands in a snug corner, midway between the fireside and 
a low arched door leading to my bedroom. Its fame is diffused 
so extensively throughout the neighborhood, that I have often 
the satisfaction of hearing the publican, or the baker, and 
sometimes even the parish-clerk, petitioning my housekeeper 
(pf whom I shall have much to say by and by) to inform him 
the exact time by Master Humphrey’s Clock. My barber, to 
whom I have referred, would sooner believe it than the sun. 
Nor are these its only distinctions. It has acquired, I am 
happy to say, another, inseparably connecting it not only with 
my enjoyments and reflections, but with those of other men ; 
as I shall now relate. 

I lived alone here for a long time without any friend or 
acquaintance. In the course of my wanderings by night and 
day, at all hours and seasons, in city streets and quiet country 
parts, I came to be familiar with certain faces, and to take it to 
heart as quite a heavy disappointment if they failed to present 
themselves each at its accustomed spot. But these were the 
only friends I knew, and beyond them I had none. 

It happened, however, when I had gone on thus for a long 
time, that I formed an acquaintance with a deaf gentleman, 
which ripened into intimacy and close companionship. To 


494 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


this hour, I am ignorant of his name. It is his humor to com 
ceal it, or he has a reason and purpose for so doing. In either 
case I feel that he has a right to require a return of the trust 
he has reposed, and as he has never sought to discover my 
secret, I have never sought to penetrate his. There may have 
been something in this tacit confidence in each other, flattering 
and pleasant to us both, and it may have imparted in the begin- 
ning an additional zest, perhaps, to our friendship. Be this as 
it may, we have grown to be like^* brothers, and still I only 
know him as the deaf gentleman. 

I have said that retirement has become a habit with me. 
When I add that the deaf gentleman and I have two friends, I 
communicate nothing which is inconsistent with that declaration. 
I spend many hours of every day in solitude and study, have 
no friends or change of friends, but these, only see them at 
•stated periods, and am supposed to be of a retired spirip by the 
very nature and object of our association. 

We are men of sdfcluded habits, with something of a cloud 
upon our early fortunes, whose enthusiasm, nevertheless, has not 
cooled with age, whose spirit of romance is not yet quenched, 
who are content to ramble through the world in a pleasant 
dream, rather than ever waken again to its harsh realities. 
We are alchemists who would extract the essence of perpetual 
youth from dust and ashes, tempt coy Truth in many light and 
airy forms from the bottom of her well, and discover one crumb 
of comfo,rt or one grain of good in the commonest and least 
regarded matter that passes through our crucible. Spirits of 
past times, creatures of imagination, and people of to<lay*, are 
alike the objects of our seeking, and, unlike the objects of 
search with most philosophers, we can insure their coming at 
our command. 

The dear gentleman and I first began to beguile our days 
with these fancies, and our nights in communicating them to 
'each other. We are now four. But in my room there are six 
old chairs, and we have decided that the. two empty seats, shall 
always be placed at our table when we meet, to remind us that 
we may yet increase our company by that number, if we should 
find two men to our mind. When one among us dies, his chair 
will always be set in its usual place, but never occupied again ; 
and I have caused my will to be 'so drawn out, that when we 
are all dead the house shall be shut up, and the vacant chairs 
still left in their accustomed places. It is pleasant to think 
that even then our shades may, perhaps, assemble together as 
of yore we did, and join in ghostly converse. 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


y 495 

One night in every week, as the clock strikes ten, we meet. 
At the second stroke of two, I am alone. 

And now shall I tell how that my old servant, besides giving 
us note of time, and ticking cheerful encouragement of our 
proceedings, lends its name to our society, which for its punc- 
tuality and my love, is christened “ Master Humphrey’s Clock ” ? 
Now shall I tell, how that in the bottom of the old dark closet, 
where the steady pendulum tbrobs and beats with healthy 
action, though the pulse of him who made it stood still long 
ago, and never moved again, there are piles of dusty papers 
constantly placed there by our hands, that we may link our 
enjoyments with my old friend, and draw means to beguile time 
from the heart of time itself? Shall I, or can I, tell with what 
a secret pride I open this repository when we meet at night, 
and still find new store of pleasure in my dear old Clock ! 

Friend and companion of my solitude ! mine is not a selfish 
love ; I would not keep your merits to myself, but disperse some- 
thing of pleasant association with your image through the whole 
wide world ; I would have men cotiple with your name cheerful 
and healthy thoughts ; I would have them believe that you keep 
true and honest time , and how it would gladden me to know 
that they recognized some hearty English work in Master 
T^imphrey’s Clock ! 


THE CLOCK-CASE^ 

It is my intention constantly to address my readers from 
the chimney-corner, and I would fain hope that such accounts 
as I shall give them of our histories and proceedings, our quiet 
speculations or more busy adventures, will never be unwelcome. 
Lest, however, I should grow prolix in the outset by lingering 
too long upon our little associations, confounding the enthusiasm 
with which I regard this chief happiness of my life with that 
minor degree of interest which those to whom I address myself 
may be supposed to feel for it, I have deemed it expedient to 
break off as they have seen. 

But, still clinging to my old friend, and naturally desirous 
that all its merits should be known, I am tempted to open 
(somewhat irregularly and against our laws, I must admit) the 
clock-case. The first roll of paper on which I lay my hand is 


49 C MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 

in, the writing of the deaf gentleman. I shall have to speak of 
him in my next paper, and how can 1 better approach that wel- 
come task than by prefacing it with a production of his own 
pen, consigned to the safe keeping of my honest clock by his 
own hands ? 

The manuscript runs thus : — 

INTRODUCTION TO THE GIANT CHRONICLES. 

Once upon a time, that is to say, in this our time, — the exact 
year, month, and day are of no matter, — there dwelt in the city 
of London a substantial citizen, who united in his single person 
the dignities of wholesale fruiterer, alderman, common-council- 
man, and member of the worshipful company of Patten-makers ; 
who had superadded to these extraordinary distinctions the im- 
portant post and title of Sheriff, and who at length, and to 
crown all, stood next in rotation for the high and honorable 
office of Lord Mayor. 

He was a very substantial citizen indeed. Llis face was 
like the full moon in a fog, with two little holes punched out for 
his eyes,. a very ripe pear stuck on for his nose, and a w'ide gash 
to serve for a mouth.. The girth of his waistcoat was hung up 
and lettered in his tailor’s shop as an extraordinary curiosity. 
He breathed like a heavy snorer, and his voice in speaking 
came thickly forth, as if it were oppressed and stifled by feather- 
beds. He trod the ground like an elephant, and eat and drank 
like — like nothing but an alderman, as he was. 

This worthy citizen had risen to his great eminence from 
small beginnings. He had once been a very lean, weazen little 
boy, never dreaming of carrying such a weight of flesh upon his 
bones or of money in his pockets, and glad enough to take his 
dinner at a baker’s door, and his tea at a pump. Put he had 
long ago forgotten all this, as it was proper that a wholesale 
fruiterer, alderman, common-councilman, member of the wor- 
shipful company of Patten-makers, past sheriff, and above all, 
a Lord Mayor that was to be, should f and lie never forgot it 
more completely in all his life than on the eighth of November 
in the year of his election to the great golden civic chair which 
was the day before his grand dinner at Guildhall. 

It happened as he sat that evening all alone in his counting- 
house, looking over the bill of fare for next day, and checking 
off the fat capons in fifties and the turtle-soup by the hundred 
quarts for his private amusement, — it happened that as he sat 
alone occupied in these pleasant calculations, a strange man 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK . 


497 


came in and asked him how he did, adding, If I am half as 
much changed as you, sir, you have no recollection of me, I am 
sure.” 

The strange man was not over and above well dressed, and 
was very far from being fat or rich-looking in any sense of the 
word, yet he spoke with a kind of modest confidence, and as- 
sumed an easy, gentlemanly sort of an air 9 to which nobody but 
a rich man can lawfully presume. Besides this, he interrupted 
the good citizen just as he had reckoned three hundred and 
seventy-two fat capons and was carrying them over to the next 
column, and as if that were not aggravation enough, the learned 
recorder for the city of London had only ten minutes previously 
gone out at that very same door, and had turned round and 
said, “Goodnight, my lord.” Yes, he had said, “ my lord,” — • 
he, a man of birth and education, of the Honorable Society of 
the Middle Temple, Barrister at Law, — he who had an uncle in 
the House of Commons, and an aunt almost but not quite in the 
House of Lords (for she had married a feeble peer, and made 
him vote as she liked), — he, this man, this learned recorder, 
had said, “ my lord.” “ I'll not wait till to-morrow to give you 
your title, my Lord Mayor,” says he, with a bow and a smile ; 
“ you are Lord Mayor de facto , if not de jure. Good night, my 
lord ! ” 

The Lord Mayor elect thought of this, and turning to the 
stranger, and sternly bidding him “ go out of his private count- 
ing-house,” brought forward the three hundred and seventy-two 
fat capons, and went on with his account. 

“ Do you remember,” said the other, stepping forward, — 
do you remember little Joe Toddyhigh? ” 

The port wine fled for a moment from the fruiterer’s nose 
as he muttered, “Joe Toddyhigh! What about Joe Toddy- 
high ? ” 

“7am Joe Toddyhigh,” cried the visitor. “Look at me, 
look hard at me — harder, harder. You know me now? you 
know little Joe again ? What a happiness to us both, to meet 
the very night before your grandeur ! Oh ! give me your hand, 
Jack — both hands — both, for the sake of old times.” 

“ You pinch me, sir. You’re a hurting of me,” said the 
Lord Mayor elect pettishly. “ Don’t — suppose anybody 
should come — Mr. Toddyhigh, sir.” 

“Mr. Toddyhigh ! ” repeated the other ruefully. 

“ Oh ! don’t bother,” said the Lord Mayor elect, scratching 
his head. “ Dear me ! Why, I thought you was dead. What 
a fellow you are ! ” 


49 8 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


Indeed, it was a pretty state of things, and worthy the tone 
of vexation and disappointment in which the Lord Mayor spoke. 
Joe Toddyhigh had been a poor boy with him at Hull, and had 
often-tirnes divided his last penny and parted his last crust to 
relieve his wants ; for though Joe vvas a destitute child in those 
times, he was as faithful and affectionate in his friendship as 
ever man of might could be. They parted one day to seek their 
fortunes in different directions. Joe went to sea, and the now 
wealthy citizen begged his way to London. They separated 
with many tears, like foolish fellows as they were, and agreed 
to remain fast friends, and if they lived, soon to communicate 
again. s 

When he was an errand-boy and even in the early days of 
his apprenticeship, the citizen had many a time trudged to the 
post-office to ask if there were any letters from poor little Joe, 
and had gone home again with tears in his eyes, when he found 
no news of his only friend. The world is a wide place, and it 
was a long time before the letter came ; when it did, the writer 
was forgotten. It turned from white to yellow from lying in 
the post-office with nobody to claim it, and in course of time 
was torn up with five hundred others, and sold for waste-paper. 
And now at last, and when it might least have been expected, 
here was this Joe Toddyhigh turning up and claiming ac- 
quaintance with a great public character, who on the morrow 
would be cracking jokes with the Prime Minister of England, 
and who had only, at any time during the next twelve months, 
to say the word, and he could shut up Temple Bar, and make 
it no thoroughfare for the king himself ! 

“ I am sure I don’t know what to say, Mr. Toddyhigh,” 
said the Lord Mayor elect ; “ I really don’t. It’s very incon- 
venient. I’d sooner have given twenty pound — it’s very incon- 
venient, really.” 

A thought had come into his mind that perhaps his old 
friend might say something passionate which would give him 
an excuse for being apgry himself. No such thing. Joe 
looked at him steadily, but very mildly, and did not open his 
lips. 

‘ Of course I shall pay you what I owe you,” said the Lord 
Mayor elect, fidgeting in his chair. “ You lent me — I think it 
was a shilling or some small coin — when we parted company, 
and that of course 1 shall pay, with good interest. I can pay 
my way with any man, and always have done. If you look 
into the Mansion House the day after to-morrow — some time 
after dusk — and ask for my private clerk, you’ll find he has a 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


499 


draft for you. I haven’t got time to say anything more just 
now, unless ” — he hesitated, for, coupled with a strong desire 
to glitter for once in all his glory in the eyes of his former com- 
panion, was a distrust of his appearance, which might be more 
shabby than he could tell by that feeble light — “ unless you’d 
like to come to the dinner to-morrow. I don’t mind your hav- 
ing this ticket, if you like to take it. A great many people 
would give their ears for it, I can tell you.” 

His old friend took the card without speaking a word, and 
instantly departed. His sunburnt face and gray hair were 
present to the citizen’s mind for a moment ; but by the time 
he reached three hundred and eighty-one fat capons, he had 
quite forgotten him. 

Joe Toddyhigh had never been in the capital of Europe 
before, and he wandered up and down the streets that night 
amazed at the number of churches and other public buildings, 
the splendor of the shops, the riches that were heaped up on 
every side, the glare of light in which they were displayed, and 
the concourse of people who hurried to and fro, indifferent, 
apparently, to all the wonders that surrounded them. But in 
all the long streets and broad squares, there were none but 
strangers ; it was quite a relief to turn down a by-way and hear 
his own foot-steps on the pavement. He went home to his inn ; 
thought that London was a dreary, desolate place, and felt dis- 
posed to doubt the- existence of one true-hearted man in the 
whole worshipful company of Patten-makers. Finally, he went 
to bed, and dreamed that he and the Lord Mayor elect were 
boys again. 

He went next day to the dinner, and when, in a burst of 
light and music, and in the midst of splendid decorations and 
surrounded by brilliant company, his former friend appeared 
at the head of the Hall, and was hailed with shouts and cheer- 
ing, he cheered and shouted with the best, and for the moment 
could have cried. The next moment he cursed his weakness 
in behalf of a man so changed and selfish, and quite hated a 
jolly-looking old gentleman opposite, for declaring himself in 
the pride of his heart a Patten-maker. 

As the banquet proceeded, he took more and more to heart 
the rich citizen’s unkindness ; and that, not from any envy, 
but because he felt that a man of his state and fortune could 
all the better afford to recognize an old friend, even if he were 
poor and obscure. The more he thought of this, the more, 
lonely and sad he felt. When the company dispersed and 
adjourned to the ball-room, l.c paced the hall and passages 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5 oo 

alone, ruminating in a very melancholy condition upon the dis- 
appointment he. had experienced. 

It chanced, while he was lounging about in this moody state, 
that he stumbled upon a flight of stairs, dark, steep, and nar- 
row, which he ascended without any thought about the matter, 
and so came into a little music gallery, empty and deserted. 
From this elevated post, which commanded the whole hall, he 
amused himself in looking down upon the attendants who were 
clearing away the fragments of the feast very lazily, and drink- 
ing out of all the bottles and glasses with most commendable 
perseverance. 

His attention gradually relaxed, and he fell fast asleep. 

When he awoke, he thought there must be something the 
matter with his eyes ; but, rubbing them a little, he soon found 
that the moonlight was really streaming through the east win- 
dow, that the lamps were all extinguished, and that he was 
alone. He listened, but no distant murmur in the echoing 
passages, not even the shutting of a door, broke the deep 
silence ; he groped his way down the stairs, and found that the 
door at the bottom was locked on the other side. He began 
now to comprehend that he must have slept a long time, that 
he had been overlooked, and was shut up there for the night. 

His first sensation, perhaps, was not altogether a comfort 
able one, for it was a dark, chilly, earthy-smelling place, and 
something too large, for a man s.o situated', to feel at home in. 
However, when the momentary consternation of his surprise 
was over, he made light of the accident, and resolved to feel 
his way up the stairs again, and make himself as comfortable 
as he could in the gallery until morning. rf As he turned to 
execute this purpose, he heard the clocks strike three. 

Any such invasion of a dead stillness as the striking of 
distant clocks, causes it to appear the more intense and insup 
portable when the sound has ceased. He listened with strained 
attention in the hope that some clock, lagging behind its fel- 
lows, had yet to strike, — looking all the time into the profound 
darkness before him until it seemed to weave itself into a black 
tissue, patterned with a hundred reflections of his own eyes. 
But the bells had all pealed out their warning for that once, 
and the gust of wind that moaned through the place seemed 
cold and heavy with their iron breath. 

The time and circumstances were favorable to reflection. 
He tried to keep his thoughts to the current, unpleasant though 
it was, in which they had moved all day, and to think with what 
a romantic feeling he had looked forward to shaking his old 


MASTER Hi ' M Til RE J ' 'S CL OCK. 


5 QI 

friend by the hand before he died, and what a wide, and cruel 
difference there was between the meeting they had had, and 
that which he had so often and so long anticipated. Still, he 
was disordered by waking to such sudden loneliness, and could 
not prevent his mind from running upon odd tales of people of 
undoubted courage, who, being shut up by night in vaults or 
churches, or other dismal places, had scaled great heights to 
get out, and fled from silence as they had never done from 
danger. This brought to his mind the moonlight through the 
window, and bethinking himself of it, he groped his way back 
up the crooked stairs. — but very stealthily, as though he were 
fearful of being overheard. 

' He was very much astonished when he approached the gal- 
lery again, to see a light in the building : still more so, on ad- 
vancing hastily and looking round, to observe no visible source 
from which it could proceed. But how much greater yet was 
his astonishment at the spectacle which this light revealed. 

The statues of the two giants, Gog and Magog, each above 
fourteen feet in height, those which succeeded to still older and 
more barbarous figures after the Great Fire of London, and 
which stand in the Guildhall to this dav, were endowed with 
life and motion. These guardian genii o' the City had quitted 
their pedestals, and reclined in easy attitudes in the great 
stained-glass window. Between them was an ancient cask, 
which seemed to be full of wine ; for the younger Giant, clap- 
ping his huge hand upon it, and throwing up his mightly leg, 
burst into an exulting laugh, which reverberated through the 
hall like thunder. 

Joe Toddy high instinctively stooped down, and, more dead 
than alive, felt his hair stand on end, his knees knock together, 
and a cold damp break out upon his forehead. But even at 
that minute curiosity prevailed over every other feeling, and 
somewhat reassured by the good-humor of the Giants and their 
apparent unconsciousness of his presence, he crouched in a 
corner of the gallery, in as small a space as he could, and 
peeping betwe'en the rails, observed them closely. 

It was then that the elder Giant, who had a flowing gray 
beard, raised his thoughtful eyes to his companion’s face, and 
in a grave and solemn voice addressed him thus : — 

FIRST NIGHT OF THE GIANT CHRONICLES. 

Turning towards his companion, the elder Giant uttered 
these words in a grave, majestic tone : — 


502 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


Magog, does boisterous mirth beseem the Giant Warder 
of this ancient city ? Is this becoming demeanor for a watch- 
ful spirit over whose bodiless head so many years have rolled, 
so many changes swept like empty air, — in whose impalpable 
nostrils the scent of blood and crime, pestilence, cruelty and 
horror, has been familiar as breath to mortals, — in whose sight 
Time has gathered in the harvest of centuries, and garnered so 
many crops of human pride, affections, hopes, and sorrows ? 
Bethink you of our compact. The night wanes ; feasting, rev- 
elry, and music have encroached upon our usual hours of soli- 
tude, and morning will be here apace. Ere we are stricken 
mute again, bethink you of our compact.” 

Pronouncing these latter words with lnore of impatience 
than quite accorded with his apparent age and gravity, the 
Giant raised a long pole (which he still bears in his hand) and 
tapped his brother Giant rather smartly on the head ; indeed, 
the blow was so smartly administered, that the latter quickly 
withdrew his lips from the cask to which they had been ap- 
plied, and catching up his shield and halberd assumed an atti- 
tude of defence. His irritation was but momentary, for he laid 
these weapons aside as hastily as he had assumed them, and 
said as he did so : — 

“You know, Gog, old friend, that when we animate these 
shapes which the Londoners of old assigned (and not unwor- 
thily) to the guardian genii of their city, we are susceptible of 
some of the sensations which belong to human kind. Thus 
when I taste wine, I feel blows ; when I relish the one, I dis- 
relish the other. Therefore, Gog, the more especially as your 
arm is none of the lightest, keep your good staff by your side, 
else we may chance to differ. Peace be between us.” 

“Amen ! ” said the other, leaning his staff in the window- 
corner. “ Why did you laugh just now ? ” 

“To think,” replied the Giant Magog, laying his hand upon 
the cask, “ of him who owned this wine, and kept it in a cellar 
hoarded from the light of day, for thirty years , — \ till it should 
be fit to drink,’ quoth he. He was two score and ten years old 
when he buried it beneath his house, and yet never thought 
that he might be scarcely ‘ fit to drink ’ when the wine became 
so. I wonder it never occurred^o him to make himself unfit 
to be eaten. There is very little of him left by this time.” 

“ The night is waning,” said Gog mournfully. 

“ 1 know it,” replied his companion, “ ancl I see you are 
impatient. But look. Through the eastern window — placed 
opposite to us, that the first beams of the rising sun may 




MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5°3 

every morning gild our giant faces — the moon-rays fell upon 
the pavement in a stream of light that to my fancy sinks 
through the cold stone and gushes into the old crypt below. 
The night is scarcely past its noon, and our great charge is 
sleeping heavily.” 

They ceased to speak and looked upward at the moon. 
The sight of their large f black, rolling eyes filled Joe Toddy- 
high with such horror that he could scarcely draw his breath. 
Still they took no note of him, and appeared to believe them- 
selves quite alone. 

“ Our compact,” said Magog after a pause, “ is, if I under- 
stand it, that, instead of watching here in silence through the 
dreary nights, we entertain each other with stories of our past 
experience ; with tales of the past, the present, and the future ; 
with legends of London and her sturdy citizens from the old 
simple times. That every night at midnight, when St. Paul’s 
bell tolls out one and we may move and speak, we thus dis- 
course, nor leave such themes till the first gray gleam -of day 
shall strike us dumb. Is that our bargain, brother ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the Giant Gog, “that is the league between us 
who guard this city, by day in spirit, and by night in body also ; 
and never on ancient holidays have its conduits run wine more 
merrily than we will pour forth our legendary lore. We are 
old chroniclers from this time hence. The crumbled walls en- 
circle us once more, the postern gates are closed, the draw- 
bridge is up, and pent in its narrow den beneath, the water 
foams and struggles with the sunken starlings. Jerkins and 
quarter-staves are in the streets again, the nightly watch is set, 
the rebel, sad and lonely in his Tower dungeon, tries to sleep 
and weeps for home and children. Aloft upon the gates and 
walls are noble heads glaring fiercely down upon the dreaming 
city, and vexing the hungry dogs that scent them in the air, 
and tear the ground beneath -with dismal howlings. The axe, 
the block, the rack, in their dark chambers give signs of re- 
cent use. The Thames, floating past long lines of cheerful 
windows whence comes a burst of music and a stream of light, 
bears sullenly to the Palace wall the last red stain brought on 
the tide from Traitor’s Gate. But your pardon, brother. The 
night wears, and I am talking idly.” 

The other Giant appeared to be entirely of this opinion, for 
during the foregoing rhapsody of his fellow-sentinel he had 
been scratching his head with an air of comical uneasiness, or 
rather with an air that would have been very comical if he had 
been a dwarf or an ordinary-sized man. He winked, too, and 


MAS' TER HI 'M PURE i ' 'S CLOCK. 


S°4 

though 'it could not be doubted for a moment that he winked 
to himself, still, he certainly cocked his enormous eye towards 
the gallery where the listener was concealed. Nor was this 
all, for he gaped, and when he gaped, Joe was horribly reminded 
of the popular prejudice on the subject of giants, and of their 
fabled power of smelling out Englishmen, however closely con- 
cealed. 

His alarm was such that he nearly swooned, and it was 
some little time before his power of sight or hearing was re- 
stored. When he recovered he found that the elder Giant was 
pressing the younger to commence the Chronicles, and that the 
latter was endeavoring to excuse himself, on the ground that the 
night was far spent and it would be better to wait until the 
next. Well assured by this that he was certainly about to 
begin directly, the listener collected his faculties by a great 
effort, and distinctly heard Magog express himself to the fol- 
lowing effect : — 

In the sixteenth century and in the reign of Queen Eliza- 
beth of glorious memory (albeit her golden days are sadly 
rusted with blood), there lived in the city of London a bold 
young ’prentice who loved his master’s daughter. 'There were 
no doubt within the walls a great many ’prentices in this condi- 
tion, but I speak of only one, and his name was Hugh Graham. 

This Hugh was apprenticed to an honest Bowyer who dwelt 
in the ward of Cheype and was rumored to possess great wealth. 
Rumor was quite as infallible in those days as at the present 
time, but it happened then as now to be sometimes right by 
accident. It stumbled upon the truth when it gave the old 
Bowyer a mint of money. His trade had been a profitable one 
in the time of King Henry the Eighth, who encouraged English 
archer\ r to the utmost, and he had been prudent and discreet. 
Thus it came to pass that Mistress Alice, his only daughter, 
was the richest heiress in all his wealthy ward. Young Hugh 
had often maintained with staff and cudgel that she was the 
handsomest. To do him justice, I believe she was. 

If he could have gained the heart of pretty Mistress Alice 
by knocking this conviction into stubborn people’s heads, Hugh 
would have had no cause to fear. But though the Bowyer s daugh- 
ter smiled in secret to hear of his doughty deeds for her sake, 
and though her little waiting-woman reported all her smiles 
(and many more) to ITugh, and though he was at a vast ex- 
pense in kisses and small coin to recompense her fidelity, he 
made no progress in his love. He durst not whisper it to Mis* 
tress Alice save on sure encouragement, and that she nevei 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


S°5 

gave him. A glance of her dark eye as she sat at the door on 
a summer’s evening after prayer-time, while he and the neigh- 
boring ’prentices exercised themselves in the street with blunted 
sword and buckler, would, fire Hugh’s blood so that none could 
stand before him ; but then she glanced at others quite as 
kindly as on him, and where was the use of cracking crowns if 
Mistress Alice smiled upon the cracked as well as on the 
cracker ? 

Still Hugh went on, and loved her more and more. He 
thought of her all day, and dreamed of her all night long. He 
treasured up her every word and gesture, and had a palpitation 
of the heart whenever he heard her footsteps on the stairs or 
her voice in an adjoining room. To him, the old Bowyer’s 
house was haunted by an angel ; there was enchantment in the 
air and space in which she moved. It would have been no 
miracle to Hugh if flowers had sprung from the rush-strewn 
floors beneath the tread of lovely Mistress Alice. ' 

Never did ’prentice long to distinguish himself in the eyes 
of his lady-love so ardently as Hugh. Sometimes he pictured 
to himself the house taking fire by night, and he, when all drew 
back in fear, rushing through flame and smoke and bearing her 
from the ruins in his arms. At other times he thought of a 
rising of fierce rebels, an attack upon the city, a strong assault 
upon the Bowyer’s house in particular, and he falling on the 
threshold pierced with numberless wounds in defence of 
Mistress Alice. If he could only enact some prodig}’’ of valor, 
do some wonderful deed, and let her know that she had inspired 
it, he thought he could die contented. 

Sometimes the Bowyer and his daughter would go out to 
supper with a worthy citizen at the fashionable hour of six 
o’clock, and on such occasions Hugh, wearing his blue ’prentice 
cloak as gallantly as ’prentice might, would attend with a lan- 
tern and his trusty club to escort them home. These were the 
brightest moments of his life. To hold the light while Mistress 
Alice picked her steps, to touch her hand as he helped her over 
broken ways, to have her leaning on his arm, — it sometimes 
even came to that, — this was happiness indeed f 

When the nights were fair, Hugh followed in the rear, his 
eyes riveted on the graceful figure of the Bowyer’s daughter as 
she and the old man moved on before him. So they threaded 
the narrow winding streets of the city, now passing beneath the 
overhanging gables of old wooden houses whence creaking 
signs projected into the street, and now emerging from some 
dark and frowning gateway into the clear moonlight. At such 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


S°6 

times, or when the shouts of straggling brawlers met her ear. 
the Bowyer’s daughter would look timidly back at Hugh be* 
seeching him to draw nearer ; and then how he grasped his 
club and longed to do battle with a dozen rufflers, for the love 
of Mistress Alice ! 

The old Bowyer was iti the habit of lending money on in- 
terest to the gallants of the Court, and thus it happened that 
many a richly dressed gentleman dismounted at his door. 
More waving plumes and gallant steeds, indeed, were seen at 
the Bowyer’s house, and more embroidered silks and velvets 
sparkled in his dark shop and darker private closet, than at 
any merchant’s in the city. In those times no less than in the 
present it would seem that the richest-looking cavaliers often 
wanted money the most. 

Of these glittering clients there was one who always came 
alone. He was always nobly mounted, and having no attend- 
ant gave his horse in charge to Hugh while he and the Bowyer 
were closeted within. Once as he sprung into the saddle Mis- 
tress Alice was seated ^.t an upper window, and before she 
could withdraw he had doffed his jewelled cap and kissed his 
hand. Hugh watched him caracoling down the street, and 
burnt with indignation. But how much deeper was the glow 
that reddened in his cheeks when, raising his eyes to the case- 
ment, he saw that Alice watched the stranger too ! 

He came again and often, each time arrayed more gayly 
than before, and still the little casement showed him Mistress 
Alice. At length one heavy day, she fled from home. It had 
cost her a hard struggle, for all her old father’s gifts were 
strewn about her chamber as if she had parted from them one 
by one, and knew that the time must come when these tokens 
of his love would wring her heart, — yet she was gone. 

She left a letter commending her poor father to the.care of 
Hugh, and wishing he might be happier than he could ever 
have been with her, for he deserved the love of a better and a 
purer heart than she had to bestow. The old man’s forgive- 
ness (she said) she had no power to ask, but she prayed God 
to bless him, — and so ended with a blot upon the paper where 
her tears had fallen. 

At first the old man’s wrath was kindled, and he carried his 
wrong to the Queen’s throne itself ; but there was no redress 
he learnt at Court, for his daughter had been conveyed abroad. 
This afterwards appeared to be the truth, as there came from 
France, after an interval of several years, a letter in her hand. 
It was written in trembling characters, and almost illegible. 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5°7 


Little could be made out save that she often thought of home 
and her old dear pleasant room, — and that she had dreamt hei 
father was dead and had not blessed her, — and that her heart 
was breaking. 

The poor old Bowyer lingered on, never suffering Hugh to 
quit his sight, for he knew now that he had loved his daughter, 
and that was the only link that bound him to earth. It broke 
at length and he died, bequeathing his old ’prentice his trade 
and all his wealth, and solemnly charging him with his last 
breath to revenge his child if ever he who had worked her mis- 
ery crossed his path in life again. 

From the time of Alice’s flight, the tilting-ground, the fields, 
the fencing-school, the summer-evening sports, knew Hugh no 
more. His spirit was dead within him. He rose to great em- 
inence and repute among the citizens, but was seldom seen to 
smile, and never mingled in their revelries or rejoicings. Brave, 
humane, and generous, he was beloved by all. He was pitied 
too by those who knew his story, and these were so many that 
when he walked along the streets alone at dusk, even the rude 
common people doffed their caps and mingled a rough air of 
sympathy with their respect. 

One night in May — it was her birthnight and twenty years 
since she had left her home — Hugh Graham sat in the room 
she had hallowed in his boyish days. He was now a gray- 
haired man, though still in the prime of life. Old thoughts had 
borne him company for many hours, and the chamber had 
gradually grown quite dark, when he was aroused by a low 
knocking at the outer door. 

He hastened down, and opening it, saw by the light of a 
lamp which he had seized upon the way, a female figure crouch- 
ing in the portal. It hurried swiftly past him and glided up the 
stairs. He looked for pursuers. There were none in sight. 
No, not one. 

He was inclined to think it a vision of his own brain, when 
suddenly a vague suspicion of the truth flashed upon his mind. 
He barred the door and hastened wildly back. Yes, there she 
was, — there, in the chamber he had quitted, — there in her old 
innocent happy home, so changed that none but he could trace 
one gleam of what she had been, — thereupon her knees, — with 
her hands clasped in agony and shame before her burning face. 

“My God, my God!” she cried, “now strike me dead! 
Though I have brought death and shame and sorrow on this 
roof, oh, let me die at home in mercy ! ” 

There was no tear upon her face then, but she trembled and 
22 


WASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


508 

glanced round the chamber. Everything was in its old place. 
Her bed looked as if she had risen from it but that morn- 
ing. The sight of these familiar objects, marking the dear re- 
membrance in which she had been held, and the blight she had 
brought upon herself, was more than the woman’s better nature 
that had carried her there could bear. She wept and fell upon 
the ground. 

A rumor was spread about, in a few days’ time, that the 
Bowyer’s cruel daughter had come home, and that Master Gra- 
ham liad. given her lodging in his house. It was rumored too 
that he had resigned her fortune, in order that she might be- 
stow it in acts of charity ; and that he had vowed to guard her 
in her solitude, but that they were never to see each other more. 
These rumors greatly incensed all virtuous wives and daughters 
in the ward, especially when they appeared to receive some cor- 
roboration from the circumstance of Master Graham taking- 
up his abode in another tenement hard by. The estimation in 
which he was held, however, forbade any questioning on the 
subject ; and as the Bowyer’s house was close shut up, and 
nobody came forth when public shows and festivities v T ere in 
progress, or to flaunt in the public walks, or to buy new fash 
ions at the mercers’ booths, all the well-conducted females 
agreed among themselves that there could be no woman there. 

These reports had scarcely died away when the wonder of 
every good citizen, male and female, was utterly absorbed and 
swallowed up by a Royal Proclamation, in which her Majestv, 
strongly censuring the practice of wearing long Spanish rapiers 
of preposterous length (as being a bullying and swaggering 
custom, tending to bloodshed and public disorder), commanded 
that on a particular day therein named, certain grave citizens 
should repair to the city gates, and there, in public, break all 
rapiers worn or carried by persons claiming admission, that ex- 
ceeded, though it were only by a quarter of an inch, three 
standard feet in length. 

Royal Proclamations usually take their course, let the pub- 
lic wonder never so much. On the appointed day two citizens 
of high repute took up their stations at each of the gates, at- 
tended by a party of the city guard : the main body to enforce 
the Queen’s will, and take custody of all such rebels (if anv) as 
might have the temerity to dispute it ; and a few to bear the 
standard measures and instruments for reducing all unlawful 
sword-blades to the prescribed dimensions. In pursuance of 
these arrangements. Master Graham and another were posted 
at Lud Gate, on the hill before Saint Paul’s. 


■MASTER MUMPMRE ) '.V (7. oca: 


5 C 9 

i 

A pretty numerous company were gathered together at this 
spot, for, besides the officers in attendance to enforce the proc- 
lamation, there was a motley crowd of lookers-on of various 
degrees, who raised from time to time such shouts and cries as 
the circumstances called forth. A spruce young courtier was 
the first who approached ; he unsheathed a weapon of burnished 
steel that shone and glistened in the sun, and handed it with 
the newest air to the officer, who, finding it exactly three feet 
long, returned it with a bow. Thereupon the gallant raised, his 
hat and crying “God- save the Queen,” passed on amidst the 
plaudits of the mob. Then came another — a better courtier 
still — who wore a blade but two feet long, whereat the people 
laughed, much to the disparagement of his honor's dignity. 
Then came a third, a sturdy old officer of the army, girded with 
a rapier at least a foot and a half beyond her Majesty’s pleasure ; 
at him they raised a great shout, and most of the spectators 
(but especially those who were armorers or cutlers) laughed 
very heartily at the breakage which would ensue. But they 
were disappointed, for the old campaigner, coolly unbuckling 
his sword and bidding his servant carry it home again, passed 
through unarmed to the great indignation of ail the beholders. 
They relieved themselves in some degree by hooting a tall 
blustering fellow with a prodigious weapon, who stopped short 
on coming in sight of the preparations, and after a little con- 
sideration turned back again : but all this time no rapier had 
been broken, although it was high noon, and all cavaliers of any 
quality or appearance were taking their way towards St. Paul’s 
churchyard. 

During these proceedings Master Graham had stood apart, 
strictly confining himself to the duty imposed upon him, and 
taking little heed of anything beyond. He stepped forward 
now as a richly dressed gentleman on foot, followed by a single 
attendant, was seen advancing up the hill. 

As this person drew nearer, the crowd stopped their clamor, 
and bent forward with eager looks., Master Graham standing- 
alone in the gateways and the stranger coming slowly towards 
him, they seemed, as it were, set face to face. The nobleman 
(for he looked one) had a haughty and disdainful air, which 
bespoke the slight estimation in which he held the citizen. 
Tffie citizen on the other hand preserved the resolute bearing 
of one who was not to be frowned down or daunted, and who 
cared very little for any nobility but that of worth and man- 
hood. It was perhaps some consciousness on the part of each, 
of these feelings in the other, that infused a more stern expres- 
sion into their regards as they came closer together. 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5 IQ 

“ Your rapier, worthy sir ! ” 

At the instant that he pronounced these words Graham 
started, and falling back some paces, laid his hand upon the 
dagger in his belt. 

“You are the man whose horse I used to hold before the 
Bowyer’s door ? You are that man ? Speak!” 

“ Out, you ’prentice hound ! ” said the other. 

“ You are he! I know you well now!” cried Graham. 
“ Let no man step between us two, or I shall be his murderer.” 
With that he drew his dagger and rushed in upon him. 

The stranger had drawn his weapon from the scabbard 
ready for the scrutiny, before a word was spoken. He made a 
thrust at his assailant, but the dagger which Graham clutched 
in his left hand being the dirk in use at that time for parrying 
such blows, promptly turned the point aside. They closed. 
The dagger fell rattling upon the ground, and Graham wresting 
his adversary’s sword from his grasp, plunged it through his 
heart. As he drew it out it snapped in two, leaving a fragment 
in the dead man’s body. 

All this passed so swiftly that the bystanders looked on 
without an effort to interfere, but the man was no sooner down 
than an uproar broke forth which rent the air. The attendant 
rushing through the gate proclaimed that his master, a noble- 
man, had been set upon and slain by a citizen ; the word quickly 
spread from mouth to mouth ; Saint Paul’s Cathedral, and 
every book-shop, ordinary, and smoking-house in the church- 
yard poured out its stream of cavaliers and their followers, who, 
mingling together in a dense tumultuous body, struggled, sword 
in hand, towards the spot. 

With equal impetuosity, and stimulating each other by ioud 
cries and shouts, the citizens and common people took up the 
quarrel on their side, and encircling Master. Graham a hundred 
deep, forced him from the gate. In vain he waved the broken 
sword above his head, crying that he would die on London’s 
threshold for their sacred homes. They bore him on, and 
ever keeping him in the midst so that no man could attack 
him, fought their way into the city. 

The clash of swords and roar of voices, the dust and heat 
and pressure, the trampling under foot of men, the distracted 
looks and shrieks of women at the windows above as they rec- 
ognized their relatives or lovers in the crowd, the rapid tolling 
of alarm bells, the furious rage and passion ot the scene, were 
fearful. Those who, being on the outskirts of each crowd, 
could use their weapons with effect, fought desperately, while 


MASTER HUMPHRE Y 'S CLOCK \ 5 x i 

those behind, maddened with baffled rage, struck at each other 
over the heads of .those before them, and crushed their own 
fellows. Wherever the broken sword was seen above the peo- 
ple’s heads, towards that spot the cavaliers made a new rush. 
Every one of these charges was marked by sudden gaps in the 
throng where men were trodden down, but as fast as they were 
made, the tide swept over them, and still the multitude pressed 
on again, a confused mass of swords, clubs, staves, broken 
plumes, fragments of rich cloaks and doublets and angry bleed- 
ing faces, all mixed up together in inextricable disorder. 

* The design of the people was to force Master Graham to 
take refuge in his dwelling, and to defend it until the authori- 
ties could interfere or they could gain time for parley. But 
either from ignorance or in the confusion of the moment, they 
stopped at his old house, which was closely shut. Some time 
was lost in beating the doors open and passing him to the front. 
About a score of the boldest of the other party threw them- 
selves into the torrent while this was being done, and reaching 
the door at the same moment with himself, cut him off from 
his defenders. 

“ I nevei will turn in such a righteous cause, so help me 
Heaven ! ” cried Graham, in a voice that at last made itself 
heard, and confronting them as he spoke. “ Least of all will 
I turn upon this threshold which owes its desolation to such 
men as ye. 1 give no quarter, and I will have none ! Strike ! ” 

For a moment they stood at bay. At that moment a shot 
from an unseen hand, apparently fired by some person who had 
gained access to one of the opposite houses, struck Graham in 
the brain, and he fell dead. A low wail was heard in the air, 
— many people in the concourse cried that they had seen a 
spirit glide across the little casement window of the Bowyer’s 
house — 

A dead silence succeeded. After a short time some of the 
flushed and heated throng lay down their arms and softly car- 
ried the body within doors. Others fell off or slunk away in 
knots of two or three, others whispered together in groups, and 
before a numerous guard which then rode up could muster in 
the street, it was nearly empty. 

Those who carried Master Graham to the bed up -stairs 
were shocked to see a woman lying beneath the window with 
her hands clasped together. After trying to recover her in 
vain, they laid her near the citizen, who still retained, tightly 
grasped in his right hand, the first and last sword that was 
broken that day at Lud Gate. 


5 12 


MAS TEA’ HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


'The Giant uttered these concluding words with sudden pre 
cipitation, and on the instant the strange light which had filled 
the hall faded away. Joe Toddyhigh glanced involuntarily at 
the eastern window and saw the first pale gleam of morning. 
He turned his head again towards the other window in which 
the Giants had been seated. It was empty. The cask of wine 
was gone, and he could dimly make out that the two great 
figures stood mute and motionless upon their pedestals. 

After rubbing his eyes and wondering for full half an hour, 
during which time he observed morning come creeping on apace, 
he yielded to the drowsiness which overpowered him and fell 
into a refreshing slumber. When he awoke it was broad day ; 
the building was open, and workmen were busily engaged in re- 
moving the vestiges of last night’s feast. 

Stealing gently down the little stairs and assuming the air 
of some early lounger who had dropped in from the street, he 
walked up to the foot of each pedestal in turn, and attentively 
examined the figure it supported. There could be no doubt 
about the features of either ; he recollected the exact expres- 
sion they had worn at different passages of their conversation, 
and recognized in every line and lineament the Giants of the 
night. Assured that it was no vision, but that he had heard 
and seen with his own proper senses, he walked forth, . deter- 
mining at all hazards to conceal himself in the Guildhall again 
that evening. He further resolved to sleep all day, so that lie 
might be very wakeful and vigilant, and above all that he might 
take notice of the figures at the precise moment of their becom- 
ing animated and subsiding into their old state, which he greatly 
reproached himself for not having done already. 


CORRESPONDENCE. 

TO MASTER HUMPHREY. 

4 

“ Sir, — Before you proceed any further in your account of 
your friends and what you say and do when you meet together, 
excuse me if I proffer my claim. to be elected to one of the va- 
cant chairs in that old room of yours. Don’t reject me without 
full consideration, for if you do you’ll be sorry for it afterwards, 
— you. will, upon my life. 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5*3 


“ I enclose my. card, sir, in this letter. I never was ashamed 
of my name, and i never shall be. i am considered a devilish 
gentlemanly fellow, and 1 act up to the character. If you want 
a reference, ask any of the men at our club. Ask any fellow 
who goes there to write his letters, what sort of conversation 
mine is. Ask him if he thinks I have the sort of voice that 
will suit your deaf friend and make him hear, if he can hear 
anything at all. Ask the servants what they think of me. 
There" s not a rascal among ’em, sir, but will tremble to hear 
my name. That reminds me, — don’t you say too much about 
that housekeeper of yours ; it’s a low subject, damned low. 

“ I tell you what, sir. If you vote me into one of those 
empty chairs, you'll have among you a man with a fund of 
gentlemanly information that’ll rather astonish you. I can let 
you into a few anecdotes about some fine women of title, that 
are quite high life, sir, — the tiptop sort of thing. I know the 
name of every man who has been out on an affair of honor 
within the last five-and-twenty years ; I know the private par- 
ticulars of every cross and squabble that has taken place upon 
the turf, at the gaming-table or elsewhere, during the whole of 
that time. I have been called the gentlemanly chronicle. You 
may consider yourself a lucky dog ; upon my soul you may con- 
gratulate yourself, though I say so. 

“ It’s an uncommon good notion that of vours, not letting 
anybody know where you live. I have tried it. but there has 
always been an anxiety respecting me which has found me out. 
Your deaf friend is a cunning fellow to keep his name so close. 
I have tried that too, but have always failed. I shall be proud 
to make his acquaintance, — tell him so, with my compliments. 

“ You must have been a queer fellow when you were a 
child, confounded queer. It’s odd all that about the picture in 
your first paper, — prosy, but told in a devilish gentlemanly sort 
of way. In places like that, I could come in with great effect 
with a touch of life — Don’t you feel that ? 

“ I am anxiously waiting for your next paper to know 
whether your friends live upon the premises, and at your ex- 
pense, which I take it for granted is the case. If I am right 
in this impression, I know a charming fellow (an excellent com- 
panion and most delightful company) who will be proud to join 
you. Some years ago he seconded a great many prize-fighters, 
and once fought an amateur match himself ; since then, he has 
driven several mails, broken at different periods all the lamps 
on the right-hand side of Oxford Street, and six times carried 
away every bell-handle in Bloomsbury Square, besides turning 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5 J 4 

off the gas in various thoroughfares. In point of gentlemanli- 
ness he is unrivalled, and I should say that next to myself he 
is of all men the best suited to your purpose. 

“ Expecting your reply, 

“ I am, 

“ &c., &c.” 

Master Humphrey informs this gentleman that his applica- 
tion, both as it concerns himself and his friend, is rejected. 


MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK. 

II. 


MASTER HUMPHREY FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN 
THE CHIMNEY-CORNER. 

My old companion tells me i. is midnight. The fire glows 
brightly, crackling with a sharp and cheerful sound, as if it 
loved to burn. The merry cricket on the hearth (my constant 
visitor), this ruddy blaze, my clock, and I, seem to share the 
world among us, and to be the only things awake. The wind, 
high and boisterous but now, has died away and hoarsely mut- 
ters in its sleep. I love all times and seasons each in its turn, 
and am apt perhaps to think the present one the best ; but past 
or coming, I always love this peaceful time of night, when long- 
buried thoughts, favored by the gloom and silence, steal from 
their graves, and haunt the scenes of faded happiness and 
hope. 

The popular faith in ghosts has a remarkable affinity with 
the whole current of our thoughts at such an hour as this, and 
seems to be their necessary and natural consequence. For 
who can wonder that man should feel a vague belief in tales 
of disembodied spirits- wandering through those places which 
they once dearly affected, when he himself, scarcely less sep- 
arated from his old world than they, is forever lingering upon 
past emotions and by-gone times, and hovering, the ghost of his 
formef self, about the places and people that warmed his heart 
of old ? It is thus that at this quiet hour I haunt the house 
where I was born, the rooms I used to tread, the scenes of my 
infancy, my boyhood, and my youth ; it is thus that I prowl 
around my buried treasure (though not of gold or silver) and 
mourn my loss ; it is thus that I revisit the ashes of extin- 
guished fires, and take my silent stand at old bedsides. If my 


5 i 6 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 

spirit should ever^lide back to this chamber when my body is 
mingled with the dust, it will but follow the course it often took 
in the old man's lifetime, and add but one more change to the 
subjects of its contemplation. 

In all my idle speculations I am greatly assisted by various 
legends connected with my venerable house, which are cur- 
rent in the neighborhood, and are so numerous that there is 
scarce a cupboard or corner that has not some dismal story of 
its own. When I first entertained thoughts of becoming its 
tenant, I was assured that it was haunted from roof to cellar, 
and I believe the bad opinion in which my neighbors once held 
me had its rise in my not being torn to pieces, or at least dis- 
tracted with terror, on the night I took possession : in either 
of which cases I should doubtless have arrived by a short cut 
at the very summit of popularity. 

But traditions and rumors all taken into account, who so 
abets me in every fancy and chimes with my every thought, as 
my dear deaf friend ; and how often have I cause to bless the 
day that brought us two together ! Of all days in the year I 
rejoice to think that it should have been Christmas Day, with 
which from childhood we associate something friendly, hearty, 
and sincere. 

I had walked out to cheer myself with the happiness of 
others, and, in the little tokens of festivity and rejoicing, of 
which the streets and houses present so many upon that day, 
had lost some hours. Now I stopped to look at a merry party 
hurrying through the snow on foot to their place of meeting, 
and now turned back to see a whole coachful of children safely 
deposited at the welcome house. At one time, I admired how 
carefully the workingman carried the baby in its gaudy hat and 
feathers, and how his wife, trudging patiently on behind, forgot 
even her care of her gay clothes, in exchanging greetings with 
the child as it crowed and laughed over the father’s shoulder ; 
at another, I pleased myself with some passing scene of gal- 
lantry or courtship, and was glad to believe that for a season 
half the world of poverty was gay. 

As the day closed in, I still rambled through the streets, 
feeling a companionship in the bright fires that cast their warm 
reflection on the windows as I passed, and losing all sense of 
my own loneliness in imagining the sociality and kind-fellow- 
ship that everywhere prevailed. At length I happened to stop 
before a Tavern, and, encountering a Bill of Fare in the win- 
dow, it all at once brought it into my head to wonder what kind 
of people dined alone in Taverns upon Christmas Day. 


MAS TEX HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


• 5 1 7 


Solitary men are accustomed, I suppose, unconsciously tG 
look upon solitude as their own peculiar property. I had sat 
alone in my room on many, many anniversaries of this great 
holiday, and had never regarded it but as one of universal as- 
semblage and rejoicing. I had excepted, and with an aching 
heart, a crowd of prisoners and beggars, but these were not the 
men for whom the Tavern doors were open. Had they any 
customers or was it a mere form ? — a form no doubt. 

Trying to feel quite sure of this, I walked away, but before 
I had gone many paces, I stopped and looked back. There 
was a provoking air of business in the lamp above the door 
which I could not overcome. I began to be afraid there might 
be many customers, — young men perhaps struggling with the 
world, utter strangers in this great place, whose friends lived 
at a long distance off, and whose means were too slender to 
enable them to make the journey. The supposition gave rise 
to so many distressing little pictures, that, in preference to 
carrying them home with me, I determined to encounter the 
realities. So I turned, and walked in. 

I was at once glad and sorry to find that there was only one 
person in the dining-room ; glad to know that there were not 
more, and sorry that he should be there by himself. He did 
not look so old as I, but like me he was advanced in life, and 
his hair was nearly white. Though I made more noise in 
entering and seating myself than was quite necessary, with the 
view of attracting his attention and saluting him in the good 
old form of that time of year, he did not raise his head but 
sat with it resting on his hand, musing over his half-finished 
meal. 

I called for something which would give me an excuse for 
remaining in the room (1 had dined early, as my housekeeper 
was engaged at night to partake of some friend’s good cheer), 
and sat where I could observe without intruding on him. After 
a time he looked up. He was aware that somebody had entered, 
but could see very little of me as I sat in the shade and he in 
the light. He was sad and thoughtful, and I forebore to trouble 
him by speaking. 

Let me believe that it was something better than curiosity 
which riveted my attention and impelled me' strongly towards 
this gentleman. I never saw so patient and kind a face. He 
should have been surrounded by friends, and yet here he sat 
dejected and alone when all men had their friends about them. 
As often as he roused himself from his revery he would fall into 
it again, and it was plain that whatever were the subjects of his 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


518 

thoughts they were of a melancholy kind, and would not be 
controlled. 

He was not used to solitude. I was sure of that, for I knew 
by myself that if he had been, his manner would have been 
different, and he would have taken some slight interest in the 
arrival of another. I could not fail to mark that he had no 
appetite ; that he tried to eat in vain ; that time after time 
the plate was pushed away, and he relapsed into his former 
posture. 

His mind was wandering among old Christmas Days, I 
thought. Many of them sprung up together, not with a long 
gap between each, but in unbroken succession like days of the 
week. It was a great change to find himself for the first time 
(I quite settled that it was the first) in an empty silent room 
with no soul to care for. I could not help following him in 
imagination through crowds of pleasant faces, and then coming 
back to that dull place with its bough of mistletoe sickening 
in the gas, and sprigs of holly parched up already by a Simoom 
of roast and boiled. The very waiter had gone home, and his 
representative, a poor, lean, hungry man, was keeping Christ- 
mas in his jacket. 

I grew still more interested in my friend. His dinner done, 
a decanter of wine was placed before him. It remained un- 
touched for a long time, but at length with a quivering hand he 
filled a glass and raised it to his lips. Some tender wish to 
which he had been accustomed to give utterance on that day, 
or some beloved name that he had been used to pledge, 
trembled upon them at the moment. He put it down very 
hastily, — took it up once more, — again put it down, — pressed 
his hand upon his face — yes — and tears stole down his cheeks, 
I am certain. 

Without pausing to consider whether I did right or wrong, 

I stepped across the room, and sitting down beside him laid 
my hand gently on his arm. 

“ My friend,” I said, “ forgive me if I beseech you to take 
comfort and consolation from the lips of an old man. I will 
not preach to you what I have not practised, indeed. What- 
ever be your grief, be of a good heart, — be of a good heart, 
pray ! ” 

“ I see that you speak earnestly,” he replied, “ and kindly 
I am very sure, but — ” 

I nodded my head to show that I understood what he would 
say, for I had already gathered from a certain fixed expression 
in his face, and from the attention with which he watched me 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5*9 

while I spoke, that his sense of hearing was destroyed. 

“ There should be a freemasonry between us,” said I, pointing 
from himself to me to explain my meaning ; “ if not m our gray 
hairs, at least in our misfortunes. You see that I am but a 
poor cripple.” 

I never felt so happy under my affliction since the trying 
moment of my first becoming conscious of it, as when he took 
my hand in his with a smile that has lighted my path in life 
from that day, and we sat down side by side. 

This was the beginning of my friendship with the deaf 
gentleman, and when was ever the slight and easy service of a 
kind word in season, repaid by such attachment and devotion 
as he had shown to me ! 

He produced a little set of tablets and a pencil to facilitate 
our conversation, on that our first acquaintance, and I well re- % 
member how awkward and constrained I was in writing down 
my share of the dialogue, and how easily he guessed my mean' 
ing before I had written half of what I had to say. He told 
me in a faltering voice that he had not been accustomed to be 
alone on that day, — that it had always been a little festival with 
him, — and seeing that I glanced at his dress in the expectation 
that he wore mourning he added hastily that it was not that ; 
if it had been, he thought he could have borne it better. From 
that time to the present we have never touched upon this 
theme. Upon every return of the same day we have been to- 
gether; and although we make it our annual custom to drink 
to each other hand in hand after dinner, and to recall with 
affectionate garrulity every circumstance of our first meeting, 
we always avoid this one as if by mutual consent. 

Meantime we have gone on strengthening in our friendship 
and regard, and forming an attachment which, I trust and 
believe, will only be. interrupted by death, to be renewed in 
another existence. I scarcely know how we communicate as 
we do, but he has long since ceased to be deaf to me. He is 
frequently the companion of my walks, and even in crowded 
streets replies to my slightest look or gesture as though he 
could read my thoughts. From the vast number of objects 
which pass in rapid succession before our eyes, we frequently 
select the same for some particular notice or remark ; and when 
$ne of these little coincidences occurs, I cannot describe the 
pleasure which animates my friend, or the beaming countenance 
he will preserve for half an hour afterwards at least. 

He is a great thinker from living so much within himself, 

i t ! i; : : ^ ^ ~ ~ ^ 


5 2 ° 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


and enlarging upon odd ideas, which renders him invaluable to 
our little body, and greatly astonishes our two friends. His 
powers in this respect are much assisted by,a large pipe, which 
he assures us once belonged to a German Student. Be this as 
it may, it has undoubtedly a very ancient and mysterious ap- 
pearance, and is of such capacity that it takes three hours and 
a half to smoke it out. I have reason to believe that my bar- 
ber, who is the chief authority of a knot of gossips who congre- 
gate every evening at a small tobacconist’s hard by, has related 
anecdotes of this pipe and the grim figures that are carved 
upon its bowl at which all the smokers in the neighborhood 
have stood aghast ; and I know that my housekeeper, while she 
holds it in high veneration, has a superstitious feeling connected 
with it which would render her exceedingly unwilling to be left 
alone in its company after dark. 

Whatever sorrow my deaf friend has known, and whatever 
grief may linger in some secret corner of his heart, he is now a 
cheerful, placid, happy creature. Misfortune can never have 
fallen upon such a man but for some good purpose; and when 
I see its traces in his gentle nature and his earnest feeling, I 
am the less disposed to murmur at such trials as I may have 
undergone myself. With regard to the pipe, I have a theory of 
my own : I cannot help thinking that it is in some manner con- 
nected with the event that brought us together, for I remember 
that it was a long time before he even talked about it ; that 
when he did, he grew reserved and melancholy ; and that it 
was a long time yet before he brought it forth. I have no 
curiosity, however, upon this subject, for I know that it pro- 
motes his tranquillity and comfort, and I need no other induce- 
ment to regard it with my utmost favor. 

Such is the deaf gentleman. I can call up his figure now, 
clad in sober gray, and seated in the chimney-corner. As he 
puffs out the smoke from his favorite pipe, he casts a look on 
me brimful of cordiality and friendship, and says all manner of 
kind and genial things in a cheerful smile ; then he raises his 
eyes to my clock which is just about to strike, and glancing 
from it to me and back again, seems to divide his heart between 
us. For myself, it is not too much to say that I would gladly 
part with one of my poor limbs, could he but hear the old 
clock’s voice. 

Of our two friends the first has been all his life one of that 
easy, wayward, truant class whom the world is accustomed to 
designate as nobody’s enemies but their own. Bred to a profes- 
sion for which he never qualified himself, and reared in the 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5 21 

expectation of a fortune lie has never inherited, he has under- 
gone every vicissitude of which such an existence is capable. 
He and his younger brother, both orphans from their childhood, 
were educated by a wealthy relative who taught them to expect 
an equal division of his property ; but too indolent to court, 
and too honest to flatter, the elder gradually lost ground in the 
affections of a eapricious old man, and the younger, who did 
not fail to improve his opportunity, now triumphs in the pos- 
session of enormous wealth. His triumph is to hoard it in 
solitary wretchedness, and probably to feel with the expendi- 
ture of every shilling a greater pang than the loss of his whole 
inheritance ever cost his brother. 

Jack Redburn — he was Jack Redburn at the first little 
school he went to, where every other child was mastered and 
sum anted, and he has been Jack Redburn all his life, or he 
would perhaps have been a richer man by this time — has been 
an inmate of my house these eight years past. He is my libra- 
rian, secretary, steward, and first minister ; director of all 
my affairs and inspector-general of my household. m He is 
something of a musician, something of an author, something of 
an actor, something of a painter, very much of a carpenter, and 
an extraordinary gardener ; having had all his life a wonderful 
aptitude for learning everything that was of no use to him. He 
is remarkably fond of children, and is the best and kindest 
nurse in sickness that ever drew the breath of life. He has 
mixed with every grade of society and known the utmost dis- 
tress, but there never was a less selfish, a more tender-hearted; 
a more enthusiastic, or a more guileless man ; and I dare say 
if few have done less good, fewer still have done less harm in 
the world than he. By what chance Nature forms such whim- 
sical jumbles I don't know, but I do know that she sends them 
among us very often, and the king of the w r hole race is Jack 
Redburn. 

I should be puzzled to say how old he is. His health is 
none of the best, and he wears a quantity of iron-gray hair 
which shades his face and gives it rather a worn appearance ; 
but we consider him quite a young fellow' notwithstanding, and 
if a youthful spirit surviving the roughest contact with the 
■world confers upon its possessor any title to be considered 
young, then he is a mere child. The only interruptions toHiis 
careless cheerfulness are on a wet Sunday, when he is apt to 
be unusually religious and solemn, and sometimes of an even- 
ing when he has been blowing a very slow' tune on the flute. 
On these last-named occasions he is apt to incline towards th<3 


5 22 


MA S 1 'ER HI IMPURE ) ' ' .V CL O CK. 


mysterious or the terrible. As a specimen of his powers in 
this mood, I refer my readers to the extract from the clock-case 
which follows this paper : he brought it to me not long ago at 
midnight, and informed me that the main incident had been 
suggested by a dream of the night before. 

His apartments are two cheerful rooms looking towards the 
garden, and one of his great delights is to arrange and re-ar- 
range the furniture in these chambers and put it in every pos- 
sible variety of position. During the whole time he had been 
here, I do not think he has slept for two night running with 
the head of his bed in the same place, and every time he moves 
it is to be the last. My housekeeper was at first wellnigh dis- 
tracted by these frequent changes, but she has become quite 
reconciled to them by degrees, and has so fallen in with his 
humor that they often consult together with great gravity upon 
the next final alteration. Whatever his arrangements are, how- 
ever, they are always a pattern of neatness, and every one of 
the manifold articles connected with his manifold occupations 
is to be # found in its own particular place. Until within the 
last two or three years he was subject to an occasional fit 
(which usually came upon him in very fine weather), under the 
influence of which he would dress himself with peculiar care, 
and going out under pretence of taking a walk, disappear for 
several days together. At length after the interval between 
each outbreak of this disorder had gradually grown longer 
and longer, it wholly disappeared, and now he seldom stirs 
abroad except to stroll out a little way on a summer’s evening. 
Whether he yet mistrusts his own constancy in this respect, 
and is therefore afraid to wear a coat, I know not ; but we 
seldom see him in any other upper garment than an old spec- 
tral-looking dressing-gown with very disproportionate pockets, 
full of a miscellaneous collection of odd matters which he picks 
up wherever he can lay his hands upon them. 

Everything that is a favorite with our friend is a favorite 
with us, and thus it happens that the fourth among us is Mr. 
Owen Miles, a most worthy gentleman, who had treated Jack 
with great kindness before my deaf friend and I encountered 
him by an accident, to which I may refer on some future occa- 
sion. Mr. Miles was once a very rich merchant, but receiving 
a ^evere shock in the death of his wife, he retired from business 
and devoted himself to a quiet, unostentatious life. He is an 
excellent man of thoroughly sterling character : not of quick 
apprehension, and not without some amusing prejudices, which 
I shall leave to their own development. He holds us all ir? 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5 I 2 3 


profound veneration, but Jack Redburn he esteems as a kind 
of pleasant wonder, that he may venture to approach familiarly. 
He believes, not only that no man ever lived who could do so 
many things as Jack, but that no man ever lived who could do 
anything so well ; and he never calls my attention to any of 
his ingenious proceedings but he whispers in my ear, nudging 
me at the same time with his elbow, “ If he had only made it 
his trade, sir, — if he had only made it his trade ! ” 

They are inseparable companions ; one would almost sup- 
pose that although Mr. Miles never by any chance does any- 
thing in the way of assistance, Jack could do nothing without 
him. Whether he is reading, writing, painting, carpentering, 
gardening, flute-playing, or what not, there is Mr. Miles beside 
him, buttoned up to the chin in his blue coat, and looking on 
with a face of incredulous delight, as though he could not 
credit the testimony of his own senses, and had a misgiving 
that no man could be so clever but in a dream. 

These are my friends ; I have now introduced myself and 
them. 


THE CLOCK-CASE. 

A CONFESSION FOUND IN A PRISON IN THE TIME OF CHARLES 
THE SECOND. 

I held a lieutenant’s commission in His Majesty’s army, 
and served abroad in the campaigns of 1677 and 1678. The 
treaty of Nimeguen being concluded, I returned home, and re- 
tiring from the service, withdrew to a small estate lying a few 
miles east of London, which I had recently acquired in right 
of my wife. 

This is the last night I have, to live, and I will set down the 
naked truth without disguise. I was never a brave man, and 
had always been from my childhood of a secret, sullen, dis- 
trustful nature. I speak of myself as if I had passed from the 
world, for while I write this my grave is digging and my name 
is written in fhe black book of death. 

Soon after my return to England, my only brother was seized 
with mortal illness. This circumstance gave me slight or no 
pain, for since we had been men we had associated but verj 


524 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK . 


little together. He was open-hearted and generous, handsomet 
than I, more accomplished, and generally beloved. Those who 
sought my acquaintance abroad or at home, because they were 
friends of his, seldom attached themselves to me long, and 
would usually say in our first conversation that they were sur- 
prised to find two brothers so unlike in their manners and ap- 
pearance. It was my habit to lead them on to this avowal, for 
I knew what comparisons they must draw between us ; and 
having a rankling envy in my heart, I sought to justify it to 
myself. 

We had married two sisters. This additional tie between 
us, as it may appear to some, only estranged us the more. His 
wife knew me well. I never struggled with any secret jealousy 
or gall when she was present, but that woman knew it as well 
as I did. I never raised my eyes at such times but I found 
hers fixed upon me ; I never bent them on the ground or looked 
another way, but I felt that she overlooked me always. It was 
an inexpressible relief to me when we quarrelled, and a greater 
relief still when I heard abroad that she was dead. It seems 
to me now as if some strange and terrible foreshadowing of 
what has happened since must have hung over us then. I was 
afraid of her ; she haunted me ; her fixed and steady look 
comes back upon me now, like the memory of a dark dream, 
and makes my blood run cold. 

She died shortly after giving birth to a child, — a boy. 
When my brother knew that all hope of his own recovery was 
passed, he called my wife to his bedside and confided this or- 
phan, a child of four years old, to her protection. He be- 
queathed to him all the property he had, and willed that in case 
of his child’s death it should pass to my wife, as the only ac- 
knowledgment he could make her for her care and love. He 
exchanged a few brotherly words with me, deploring our long 
separation, and being exhausted fell into a slumber from which 
he never awoke. 

We had no children, and as there had been a strong affec- 
tion between the sisters, and my wife had almost supplied the | 
place of a mother to this boy, she loved him as if he had been : 
her own. The child was ardently attached to her ; but he was 
his mother’s image in face and spirit, and always mistrusted 
me. 

I can scarcely fix the date when the feeling first came upon 
me, but I soon began to be uneasy when this child was bv. I •. 
never roused myself from some moody train of thought but I 
marked him looking at me ; not with mere childish wonder, but 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5 2 5 

with something of the purpose and meaning that I had so often 
noted in his mother. It was no effort of my fancy, founded on 
close resemblance of feature and expression. I never could 
look the boy down. He feared me, but seemed by some in- 
stinct to despise me while he did so ; and even when he drew 
back beneath mv gaze, — as he would when we were alone, to 
get nearer to the door, — he would keep his bright eyes upon 
me still. 

Perhaps I hide the truth from myself, but I do not think 
that when this began, I meditated to do him any wrong. I 
may have thought how serviceable his inheritance would be to 
us, and may have wished him dead, but I believe I had no 
thought of compassing his death. Neither did the idea come 
upon me at once, but by very slow degrees, presenting itself at 
first in dim shapes at a very great distance, as men may think 
of an earthquake or the last day, — then drawing nearer and 
nearer and losing something of its horror and improbability, — • 
then coming to be part and parcel, nay, nearly the whole sum 
and substance of my daily thoughts and resolving itself into a 
question of means and safety; not of doing or abstaining from 
the deed. 

While this was going on within me, I never could bear that 
the child should see me looking at him, and yet I was under a 
fascination which made it a kind of business with me to con- 
template his slight and fragile figure and think how easily it 
might be done. Sometimes I would steal up stairs and watch 
him as he slept, but usually I hovered in the garden near the 
window of the room in which he learnt his little tasks ; and 
there, as he sat in a low seat beside my wife, I would peer at 
him for hours together from behind a tree : starting like the 
guilty wretch I was at every rustling of a leaf, and still gliding 
back to look and start again. 

Hard by our cottage, but quite out of sight, and (if there 
were any wind astir) of hearing too, was a deep sheet of water. 
I spent days in shaping with my pocket-knife a rough model of 
a boat, which I finished at last and dropped in the child’s way. 
Then I withdrew to a secret place which he must pass if he 
stole away alone to swim this bauble, and lurked there for his 
coming. He came neither that day nor the next, though I 
waited from noon till nightfall. I was sure that I had him in 
my net, for I had heard him prattling of the toy and knew that 
in his infant pleasure he kept it by his side in bed. I felt no 
weariness or fatigue, but waited patiently, and on the third day 
he passed me, running joyously along, with his silken hair 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


526 

streaming in the wind, and he- singing, — God have mercy upon 
me ! — singing a merry ballad, — who could hardly lisp the 
words. 

I stole down after him, creeping under certain shrubs which 
grow in that place, and none but devils know with what terror 
I, a strong, full-grown man, tracked the footsteps of that baby 
as he approached the waters brink I was close upon him, had 
sunk upon my my knee and raised my hand to thrust him in, 
when he saw my shadow in the stream and turned him round. 

His mother’s ghost was looking from his eyes. The sun burst 
forth from behind a cloud : it shone in the bright sky, the 
glistening earth, the clear water, the sparkling drops of rain 
upon the leaves. There were eyes in everything, The whole 
great universe of light was there to see the murder done. I 
know not what he said ; he came of bold and manly blood, and, 
child as he was, he did not crouch or fawn upon me. I heard 
him cry that he would try to love me, — not that he did, — and 
then I saw him running back towards the house. The next I 
saw was my own sword naked in my hand, and he lying at my 
feet stark dead, — dabbled here and there with blood, but other- 
wise no different from what I had seen him in his sleep, — in 
the same attitude too, with his cheek resting upon his little 
hand. 

I took him in my arms and laid him — very gently now that 
he was dead — in a thicket. My wife was from home that day 
and would not return until the next. Our bedroom window, 
the only sleeping-room on that side of the house, was but a few 
feet from the ground, and I resolved to descend from it at 
night and bury him in the garden. I had no thought that I 
had failed in my design, no thought that the water would be 
dragged and nothing found, that the money must now lie waste 
since I must encourage the idea that the child was lost or 
stolen. All my thoughts wwe bound up and knotted together, 
in the one absorbing necessity of hiding what I had done. 

How I felt when they came to tell me that the child was 
missing, when I ordered scouts in all directions, when I gasped 
and trembled at every one’s approach, no tongue can tell or j 
mind of man conceive. I buried him that night. When I 
parted the boughs and looked into the dark thicket, there was j 
a glow-worm shining like the visible spirit of God upon the 
murdered child. I glanced down into his grave when I had ; 
placed him there, and still it gleamed upon his breast ; an eye j 
of fire looking up to Heaven in supplication to the stars that 
watched me at my work. 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. . 


5 2 7 


T had to meet mv wife, and break the news, and give her 
hope that the child would soon be found. All this I did — with 
some appearance, I suppose, of being sincere, for I was the 
object of no suspicion. This done, I sat at the bed-room win- 
dow all day long, and watched the spot where the dreadful 
secret lay. 

It was in a piece of ground which had been dug up to be 
newly turfed, and which I had chosen on that account, as the 
traces of my spade were less likely to attract attention. The 
men who laid down the grass must have thought me mad. I 
called to them continually to expedite their work, ran out and 
worked beside them, trod down the earth with my feet, and 
hurried them with frantic eagerness. They had finished their 
task before night, and then I thought myself comparatively 
safe. 

I slept — not as men do who awake refreshed and cheerful, 
but I did sleep, passing from vague and shadowy dreams of 
being hunted down, to visions of the plot of grass, through 
which now a hand and now a foot and now the head itself was 
starting out. At this point I always woke and stole to the 
window, to make sure that it was not really so. That done, I 
crept to bed again, and thus I spent the night in fits and starts, 
getting up and lying down dull twenty times, and dreaming the 
same dream over and over again — which was far worse than 
lying awake, for every dream had a whole night’s suffering of 
its own. Once I thought the child was alive and that 1 had 
never tried to kill him. To wake from that dream was the 
most dreadful agony of all. 

The next day I, sat at the window again, never once taking 
my eyes from the place, which, although it was covered by the 
grass, was as plain to me — its shape, its size, its depth, its jagged 
sides, and all — as if it had been open to the light of day. 
When a servant walked across it, I felt as if he must sink in ; 
when he had passed, I looked to see that his feet had not worn 
the edges. If a bird lighted there, I was in terror lest by some 
tremendous interposition it should be instrumental in the dis- 
covery ; if a breath of air sighed across it, to me it whispered 
murder. There was not a sight or a sound, — how ordinary, 
mean, or unimportant soever, — but was fraught with fear. And 
in this state of ceaseless watching I spent three days. 

On the fourth, there came to the gate one who had served 
with me abroad, accompanied by a brother officer of his whom 
I had never seen. I felt that I could not bear to be out of 
sight of the place. It was a summer evening, and I bade my 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK . 


528 

people take a table and flask of wine, into the garden. Then I 
sat down with my chair upon the grave, and being assured that 
nobody could disturb it now, without my knowledge, tried to 
drink and talk. 

They hoped that my wife was well, — that she was not 
obliged to keep her chamber, — that they had not frightened 
her away. What could I do but tell them with a faltering 
tongue about the child ? The officer whom I did not know was 
a down-looking man, and kept his eyes upon the ground while 
I was speaking. Even that terrified me ! I could not divest 
myself of the idea that he saw something fchere which caused 
him to suspect the truth. I asked him hurriedly if he supposed 
that — and stopped. “That the child has been murdered ?” 
said he, looking mildly at me. “ O no ! what could a man gain 
by murdering a poor child ? ” I could have told him what a 
man gained by such a deed, no one better, but I held my peace 
and shivered as with an ague. 

Mistaking my emotion, they were endeavoring to cheer me 
with the hope that the boy would certainly be found — great 
cheer that was for me — when we heard a low' deep howl, and 
presently 'there sprung over the wall two great dogs,^w r ho, 
bounding into the garden, repeated the baying sound w? had 
heard before. 

“ Bloodhounds ! ” cried my visitors. 

What need to tell me that ! I had never seen one of that 
kind in all my life, but I knew what they were and for what 
purpose they had come. I grasped the elbows of my chair, and 
neither spoke no moved. 

“ They are of the genuine breed,” said the man whom I had 
known abroad, “ and being out for exercise, have no doubt 
escaped from their keeper.” 

Both he and his friend turned to look at the dogs, who, with 
their noses to the ground, moved restlessly about, running to 
and fro, and up and down, and across, and round in circles, 
careering about like wild things, and all this time taking no 
notice of us, but ever and again repeating the yell we had heard 
already, then dropping their noses to the,ground again and 
tracking earnestly here and there. They now' began to snuff 
the earth more eagerly than they had done yet, and although 
they were still very restless, no longer beat about in such wide 
circuits, but kept near to one spot, and constantly diminished 
the distance between themselves and me. 

At last they came up close to the great chair on which I sat, 
and raising their frightful howl once more, tried to tear away 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK '. 


5 2 9 

the wooden rails that kept them from the ground beneath. I 
saw how I looked, in the faces of the two who were with me. 

“ They scent some prey,” said they, both together. 

“ They scent no prey ! ” cried I. 

“ In Heaven’s name, move,” said the one I knew, very earn- 
estly, “ or you will be torn to pieces.” 

“ Let them tear me from limb to limb, I'll never leave this 
place ! ” cried I. “ Are dogs to hurry men to shameful deaths ? 
Hew them down, cut them in pieces.” 

“ There is some foul mystery here ! ” said the officer whom 
I did not know, drawing his sword. “ In King Charles’s name, 
assist me to secure this man.” 

They both set upon me and forced me away, though 1 
fought and bit and caught at them like a madman. After a 
struggle they got me quietly between them, and then, my God ! 
I saw the angry dogs tearing at the earth and throwing it up 
into the air like water. 

What more have I to tell ! That I fell upon my knees and 
with chattering teeth confessed the truth and prayed to be for- 
given. That I have since denied and now confess to it again. 
That I have been tried for the crime, found guilty, and sen- 
tenced. That I have not the courage to anticipate my doom 
or to bear up manfully against it. That I have no compassion, 
no consolation, no hope, no friend. That my wife has happily 
lost for the time those faculties which would enable her to know 
my misery or hers. That I am alone in this stone dungeon with 
my evil spirit, and that I die to-morrow ! * 


CORRESPONDENCE. 

Master Humphrey has been favored with the following 
letter, written on strong scented paper, and sealed in light blue 
wax with the representation of two very plump doves, inter 
changing beaks. It does not commence with any of the usual 
forms of address, but begins as is here set forth. 

Bath, Wednesday Night. 

Heavens ! into what an indiscretion do I suffer myself to be 
betrayed ! To address these faltering lines to a total stranger, 

* Old Curiosity Shop begins here. 


53 ° 


MASTER HUM PURE Y 'S CLOCK. 


and that stranger one of a conflicting sex ! — and yet I am pre- 
cipitated into the abyss, and have no power of self-snatchation 
(forgive me if I coin that phrase) from the yawning gulf before 
me. 

Yes, I am writing to a man, but let me not think of that, for 
madness is in the thought. You will understand my feelings? 

O' yes ! I am sure you will ! and you will respect them too, and 
npt despise them,— will you ? 

Let me be calm. That portrait, — smiling as once he smiled 
On me ; that cane, — dangling as I have seen it dangle from his 
hand I know not how oft ; those legs that have glided through 
my nightly dreams and never stopped to speak ; the perfectly 
gentlemenly, though false original, — can I be mistaken? O no, 
no. 

Let me be calmer yet : I would be calm as coffins. You 
have published a letter from one whose likeness is engraved, 
but whose name (and wherefore ?) is suppressed. Shall / breathe 
that name ? Is it — but why ask when my heart tells me too 
truly that it is b 

I would not upbraid him with his treachery, I would not 
remind him of those times when he plighted the most eloquent of 
vows, and procured from me a small pecuniary accommodation ; 
and yet I would see him — see him did I say — him— alas! such 
is woman’s nature. For as the poet beautifully says — but you 
will already have anticipated the sentiment. Is it not sweet ? 

O yes ! 

It was in this city (hallowed by the recollection) that I met 
him first, and assuredly if mortal happiness be recorded any- 
where, then those rubbers with their three-and-sixpenny points 
are scored on tablets of celestial brass. He always held an 
honor, — generally two. On that eventful night, we stood at 
eight. He raised his eyes (luminous in their seductive sweet- 
ness) to my agitated face. “ Can you ?” said he, with peculiar 
meaning. I felt the gentle pressure of his foot on mine ; our 
corns throbbed in unison. “ Can you ? ” he said again, and 
every lineament of his expressive countenance added the words \ 
“ resist me ? ” I murmured “ No,” and fainted. 

They said when I recovered, it was the weather, /said it ] 
was the nutmeg in the negus. How little did they suspect the j 
truth ! How little did they guess the deep mysterious meaning 1 
of that inquiry? He called next morning on his knees : I do 1 
not mean to say that he actually came in that position to the 1 
house door, but that he went down upon those joints directly 1 
the servant had retired. He brought some verses in his hat | 


MAS TEA' HUMPHREY'S CLOCK . 


53 


which he said were original, but which I have since found were 
Milton’s. Likewise a little bottle labelled laudanum ; also a 
pistol and a swordstick* He drew the latter, uncorked the 
former, and clicked the trigger of the pocket fire-arm. He had 
come, he said, to conquer or to die. He did not die. He 
wrested from me an avowal of my love, and let off the pistol 
out of a back window previous to partaking of a slight repast. 

Faithless, inconstant man ! How many ages seem to have 
elapsed.since his unaccountable and perfidious disappearance ! 
Could I still forgive him both that and the borrowed lucre that 
he promised to pay next week ! Could I spurn him from my 
feet if he approached in penitence, and with a matrimonial 
object ! Would the blandishing enchanter still weave his spells 
around me, or should I burst them all and turn away in cold- 
ness ! I dare not trust my weakness with the thought. 

My brain is in a whirl again. You know his address, his oc- 
cupations, his mode of life, — are acquainted, perhaps, with his 
inmost thoughts. You are a humane and philanthropic char- 
acter ; reveal all you know, — all ; but especially the street and 
number of his lodgings. The post is departing, the bellman 
rings, — pray heaven it be not the knell of love and hope to. 

Belinda. 

P. S. Pardon the wanderings of a bad pen and a distracted 
mind. Address to the Post-office. The bellman, rendered im- 
patient by delay, is ringing dreadfully in the passage. 

P. P. S. I open this to say that the bellman is gone, and 
that you must not expect it till the next post ; so don’t be sur- 
prised when you don’t get it. 

Master Humphrey does not feel himself at liberty to furnish 
his fair correspondent with the address of the gentleman in 
question, but he publishes her letter as a public appeal to his 
faith and gallantry. 


MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK, 
ill. 


MASTER HUMPHREY’S VISITOR. 

When I am in a thoughtful mood, I often succeed in divert- 
ing the current of some mournful reflections, by conjuring up a 
number of fanciful associations with the objects that surround 
me and dwelling upon the scenes and characters they suggest. 

I have been led by this habit to assign to every room in my 
house, and every old staring portrait on its walls, a separate 
interest of its own. Thus, I am persuaded that a stately dame, 
terrible to behold in her rigid modesty, who hangs above the 
chimney-piece of my bedroom, is the former lady of the man- 
sion. In the court-yard below is a stone face of surpassing 
ugliness, which I have somehow — in a kind of jealousy, I am 
afraid — associated with her husband. Above my study is a 
little room with ivy peeping through the lattice, from which I 
bring their daughter, a lovely girl of eighteen or nineteen years 
of age, and dutiful in all respects save one, that one being her 
devoted attachment to a young gentleman on the stairs, whose 
grandmother (degraded to a disused laundry in the garden) 
piques herself upon an old family quarrel, and is the implacable 
enemy of their love. With such materials as these, I work out 
many a little drama, whose chief merit is, that I can bring it to 
a happy end at will ; I have so many of them on hand, that if 
on my return home one of these evenings I were to find some 
bluff old wight of two centuries ago comfortably seated in my 
easy-chair, and a love-lorn damsel vainly appealing to his heart 
and leaning her white arm upon my clock itself, I verily be- 
lieve I should only express my surprise that they had kept me 
waiting so long, and never honored me with a call before. 

(532) • 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


533 


I was in such a mood as this, sitting in my garden yester- 
day morning under the shade of a favorite tree revelling in all 
the bloom and brightness about me, and feeling every sense of 
hope and enjoynient quickened by this most beautiful season 
of spring, when my meditations were interrupted by the unex- 
pected appearance of my barber at the end of the walk, who I 
immediately saw was coming towards me with a hasty step that 
betokened something remarkable. 

My barber is at all times a very brisk, bustling, active little 
man, — for he is, as it were, chubby all over without'being stout 
or unwieldly, — but yesterday his alacrity was so very uncom- 
mon that it quite took me by surprise. For could I fail to ob- 
serve when he came up to me, that his gray eyes were twink- 
ling in a most extraordinary manner, that his little red nose 
was in an unusual glow, that every line in his round, bright 
face was twisted and curved into an expression of pleased sur- 
prise, and that his whole countenance was radiant with glee ? 
I was still more surprised to see my housekeeper, who usually 
preserves a very staid air, and stands somewhat upon her 
dignity, peeping round the hedge at the bottom of the walk, 
and exchanging nods and smiles with the barber, who twice or 
thrice looked over his shoulder for that purpose. I could con- 
ceive no announcement to which these appearances could be 
the prelude, unless it were that theyhad married each other 
that morning. 

I was, consequently, "a little disappointed when it only came 
out that there was a gentleman in the house who wished to 
speak with me. 

“ And who is it ? ” said 1. 

The barber, with his face screwed up still tighter than be- 
fore, replied that the gentleman would not send his name, but 
wished to see me. I pondered for a moment, wondering who 
this visitor might be, and I remarked that he embraced the op- 
portunity of exchanging another nod with the housekeeper, who 
still lingered in the distance. 

“ Well ! ” said I, “bid the gentleman come here.” 

This seemed to be the consummation of the barber’s hopes, 
for he turned sharp round, and actually ran away. 

Now, my sight is not very good at a distance, and therefore 
when the gentleman first appeared in the walk, I was not quite 
clear whether he was a stranger to me or otherwise. He was 
an elderly gentleman, but came tripping along in the pleasantest 
manner conceivable, avoiding the garden-roller and the borders 
ot the beds with inimitable dexterity, picking his way among 


534 


MASTER I/UMP HR EYES CLOCK. 


the flower-pots, and smiling with unspeakable good-humor. 
Before he was half-way up the walk he began to salute me ; 
then I thought I knew him ; but when he came towards me 
with his hat in his hand, the sun shining on his bald head, his 
bland face, his bright spectacles, his fawn-colored tights, and his 
black gaiters,— then, my heart warmed towards him and I felt 
quite certain that it was Mr. Pickwick. 

“ My dear sir,” said that gentleman as I rose to receive 
him, “ pray be seated. Pray sit down. Now, do not stand 
on my account. I must insist upon it, really.” With these 
words Mr. Pickwick gently pressed me down into my seat, and 
taking my hand in his, shook it again and again with a warmth 
of manner perfectly irresistible. I endeavored to express in 
my welcome something of that heartiness and pleasure which 
the sight of him awakened, and made him sit down beside me. 
All this time he kept alternately releasing my hand and grasp- 
ing it again, and surveying me through his spectacles with such 
a beaming countenance as I never beheld. 

“You knew me directly!” said Mr. Pickwick. “What a 
pleasure it is to think that you knew me directly ! ” 

I remarked that 1 had read his adventures very often, and 
his features were quite familiar to me from the published por- 
traits. As I thought it a good opportunity of adverting to the 
circumstance, I condoled with him upon the various libels on 
his character which had found their way into print. Mr. Pick 
wick shook his head, and for a moment looked very indignant, 
but smiling again directly, addeck that no doubt I was ac- 
quainted with Cervantes’s introduction to the second part of 
Don Quixote, and that it fully expressed his sentiments on the 
subject. 

But now,” safd Mr. Pickwick, ‘ don’t you wonder how I 
found you out ? ” 

“ i shall . never wonder, and with your good leave, never 
know,” said'I, smiling in my turn. “ It is enough for me that 
you give me this gratification. I have not the least desire that 
you should tell me by what means I have obtained it.” 

“ You are ve-ry kind,” returned Mr. Pickwick, shaking me 
by the hand again ; “you are so exactly what I expected ! But 
for what particular purpose do you think I have sought you, my 
dear sir ? Now, what do you think I have come for ? ” 

Mr. Pickwick put this question as though he were persuaded 
that it was morally impossible that I could by any means 
divine the deep purpose of his visit, and that it must be hidden 
from all human ken. Therefore, although I was rejoiced to 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


535 


think that I had anticipated his drift, I feigned to be quite 
ignorant of it, and after a brief consideration shook my head de- 
spairingly. 

“ What should you say,” said Mr. Pickwick, laying the fore- 
finger of his left hand upon my coat-sleeve, and looking at me 
with his head thrown back, and a little on one side, — “what 
should you say if I confessed that after reading your account 
of yourself and your little society, I had come here, a humble 
candidate for one of those empty chairs ? ” 

“I should say,” I returned, “that I know of only one cir- 
cumstance which could still further endear that little society to 
me, and that would be the associating with it my old friend, — 
for you must let me call you so, — my old friend, Mr. Pick- 
wick.” 

As I made him this answer every feature of Mr. Pickwick’s 
face fused itself into one all-pervading expression of delight. 
After shaking me heartily by both hands at once, he patted me 
gently on the back, and then — I well understood why — colored 
up to the eyes, and hoped with great earnestness of manner 
that he had not hurt me. 

“ If he had I would have been content that he should have 
repeated the offence a hundred times rather than suppose so ; 
but as he had not, I had no difficulty in changing the subject 
by making an inquiry which had been upon my lips twenty 
times already. 

“You have not told me,” said I, “ anything about Sam 
Weller.” 

“Oh! Sam,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “ is the same as ever. 
The same true, faithful fellow that he ever was. What should 
I tell you about Sam, my dear sir, except that he is more indis- 
pensable to my happiness and comfort every day of my life ? ” 

“ And Mr. Weller senior ? ” said I. 

“ Old Mr. Weller,” returned Mr. Pickwick, “ is in no respect 
more altered than Sam, unless it be that he is il Tittle more 
opinionated than he was formerly, and perhaps at times more 
talkative.. He spends a good deal of his time now in our neigh- 
borhood, and has so constituted himself a pgrt of my body- 
guard, that when I ask permission for Sam to have a seat in 
your kitchen on clock nights (supposing your three friends 
think me worthy to till one of the chairs), I am afraid 1 must 
often include Mr, Weller too.” 

f very readily pledged' myself to give both Sam and his 
father a free admission to my house at all hours and seasons : 
and this point settled, we fell into a lengthy conversation which 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


536 

was carried on with as little reserve on both sides as if we had 
been intimate friends from our youth, and which conveyed to 
me the comfortable assurance that Mr. Pickwick’s buoyancy of 
spirit, and indeed all his old cheerful characteristics, were 
wholly unimpaired. As he had spoken of the consent of my 
friends as being yet in abeyance, I repeatedly assured him that 
his proposal was certain to receive their most joyful sanction, 
and several times entreated that he would give me leave to in- 
troduce him to Jack Redburn and Mr. Miles (who were near 
at hand) without further ceremony. 

To this proposal, however, Mr. Pickwick’s delicacy would 
by no means allow him to accede, for he urged that his eligi- 
bility must be formally discussed, and that, until this had been 
done, he could not think of obtruding himself further. The 
utmost I could obtain from him was a promise that he would 
attend upon our next night of meeting, that I might have the 
pleasure of presenting him immediately on his election. 

Mr. Pickwick, having with many blushes placed in my hands 
a small roll of paper, which he termed his “ qualification,” put 
a great many questions to me touching my friends, and par- 
ticularly Jack Redburn, whom he repeatedly termed “ a fine 
fellow,” and in whose favor I could see he was strongly predis- 
posed. When I had satisfied him on these points, 1 took him 
up into my room that he might make acquaintance with the old 
chamber which is our place of meeting. 

“ And this,” said Mr. Pickwick, stopping short, “ is the 
clock ! Dear me ! And this is really the old clock ! ” 

I thought he would never have come away from it. After 
advancing towards it softly, and laying his hand upon it with as 
much respect and as many smiling looks as if it were alive, he 
set himself to consider it in every possible direction, now mount- 
ing on a chair to look at the top, now going down upon his 
knees to examine the bottom, now surveying the sides with his 
spectacles almost touching the case, and now trying to peep 
between it and the wall to get a slight view of the back. Then 
he would retire a pace, or two and look up at the dial to see it 
go, and then draw near again and stand with his head on one 
side to hear it tick : never failing to glance towards me at in- 
tervals of a few seconds each, and nod his head with such com- 
placent gratification as I am quite unable to describe. His 
admiration was not confined to the clock either, but extended 
itself to every article in the room, and really, when he had gone 
through them every one, and at last sat himself down in all the 
six chairs, one after another, to try how they felt, 1 never saw 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


537 

such a picture of good-humor and happiness as he presented, 
from the top of his shining head down to the very last button 
of his gaiters. 

I should have been well pleased, and should have had the 
utmost enjoyment of his company, if he had remained with me 
all day, but my favorite, striking the hour, reminded him that 
he must take his leave. I could not forbear telling him once 
more how glad he had made me, and we shook hands all the 
way down stairs. 

We had no sooner arrived in the Hall, than my house- 
keeper, gliding out of her little room (she had changed her 
gown and cap, I observed), greeted Mr. Pickwick with her best 
smile and courtesy , and the barber, feigning to be accidentally 
passing on his way out, made him a vast number of bows. 
When the housekeeper courtesied, Mr. Pickwick bowed with 
the utmost politeness, and when he bowed, the housekeeper 
courtesied again ; between the housekeeper and the barber, I 
should say that Mr. Pickwick- faced about and bowed with un- 
diminished affability, fifty times at least. 

I saw him to the door ; an omnibus was at the moment 
passing the corner of the lane, which Mr, Pickwick hailed and 
ran after with extraordinary nimbleness. When he had got 
about half-way he turned his head, and seeing that I was still 
looking after him and that I waved my hand, stopped, evi- 
dently irresolute whether to come back and shake hands again, 
or to go on. The man behind the omnibus shouted, and Mr. 
Pickwick ran a little way towards him : then he looked round 
at me and ran a little way back again. Then there was another 
shout, and he turned round once more and ran the other way. 
After several of these vibrations, the man settled the question 
by taking Mr. Pickwick by the arm, and putting him into the 
carriage ; but his last action was to let down the window and 
wave his hat to me as it drove off. 

I lost no time in opening the parcel he had left with me. 
The following were its contents : — 

MR. PrCKWICK’S TALE. 

A good many years have passed away since old John Pod- 
gers lived in the town of Windsor, where he was born, and 
where, in course of time, he came to be comfortably and snugly 
buried. You may be sure that in the time of King James the 
First, Windsor was a very quaint, queer old town, and you may 
take it upon my authority that John Podgers was a very quaint, 


53 8 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 

queer old fellow ; consequently he and Windsor fitted each 
other to a nicety, and seldom parted company even for half a 
day. 

John Podgers was broad, sturdy, Dutch-built, short, and a 
very hard eater, as men of his figure often are. Being a hard 
sleeper likewise, he divided his time pretty equally between 
these two recreations, always falling asleep when he had done 
eating, and always taking another turn at the trencher when he 
had done sleeping, by which means he grew more corpulent and 
more drowsy every day of his life. Indeed it used to be cur- 
rently reported that when he sauntered up and down the sunny 
side of the street before dinner (as he never failed to do in fair 
weather), he enjoyed his soundest nap ; but many people held 
this to be a fiction, as he had several times been seen to look 
after fat oxen on market-days, and had even been heard, by per- 
sons of good credit and reputation, to chuckle at the sight, and 
say to himself with great glee, “ Live beef, live beef ! ” It was 
upon this evidence that the wisest people in Windsor (beginning 
with the local authorities of course) held that John Podgers was 
a man of strong sound sense, — not what is called smart, per- 
haps, and it might be of a rather lazy and apoplectic turn, but 
still a man of solid parts, and one who meant much more than 
he cared to show. This impression was confirmed by a very 
dignified way he had of shaking his head and imparting, at the 
same time, a pendulous motion to his double chin ; in short he 
passed for one of those people who, being plunged into the 
Thames, would make no vain efforts to set it afire, but would 
straightway flop down to the bottom with a deal of gravity, and 
be highly respected in consequence by all good men. 

Being well to do in the world, and a peaceful widower, — 
having a great appetite, which, as he could afford to gratify it, 
was a luxury and no inconvenience, and a power of going to 
sleep, which, as he had no occasion to keep awake, was a most 
enviable faculty, — you will readily suppose that John Podgers 
was a happy man. But appearances are often deceptive when 
they least seem so, and the truth is, that notwithstanding his ex- 
treme sleekness, he was rendered uneasy in his mind and ex- 
ceedingly uncomfortable by a constant apprehension that beset 
him night and day. 

You know very well that in those times there flourished 
divers evil old women who, under the name of Witches, spread 
great disorder through the land, and inflicted various dismal 
tortures upon Christian men . sticking pins and needles into them 
when they least expected it, and causing them to walk in the air 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


539 


with their feet upwards, to the great terror of their wives and 
families, who were naturally very much disconcerted when the 
master of the house unexpectedly came home, knocking at the 
door with his heels and combing his hair on the scraper. 
These were their commonest pranks, but they every day played 
a hundred others, of which none were less objectionable and 
many were much more so, being improper besides ; the result 
was that vengeance was denounced against all old women, with 
whom even the king himself had no sympathy (as he certainly 
ought to have had), for with his own most Gracious hand he 
penned a most Gracious consignment of them to everlasting 
wrath, and devised most Gracious means for their confusion and 
slaughter, in virtue whereof scarcely a day passed but one witch 
at the least was most graciously hanged, drowned, or roasted in 
some part of his dominions. Still, the press teemed with strange 
and terrible news from the North or the South, or the East or 
the West, relative to witches and their unhappy victims in some 
corner of the country, and the Public’s hair stood on end to that 
degree that it lifted its hat off its head, and made its face pale 
with terror. 

You may believe that the little town of Windsor did not es- 
cape the general contagion. The inhabitants boiled a witch on 
the King’s birthday and sent a bottle of the broth to court, with 
a dutiful address expressive of their loyalty. The King, being 
rather frightened by the present, piously bestowed it upon the 
Archbishop of Canterbury, and returned an answer to the ad- 
dress, wherein he gave them golden rules for discovering witches, 
and laid great stress upon certain protecting charms, and 
especially horseshoes. Immediately the townspeople went to 
work nailing up horseshoes over every door, and so many 
anxious parents apprenticed their children to farriers, to keep 
them out of harm’s way, that it became quite a genteel trade 
and flourished exceedingly. 

In the midst of all this bustle John Podge rs ate and slept as 
usual, but shook his head a great deal oftener than was his 
custom, and was observed to look at the oxen less, and at the 
old women more. He had a little shelf put up in his sitting- 
room, whereon was displayed, in a row which grew longer every 
week, all the witchcraft literature of the time ; he grew learned 
in charms and exorcisms, hinted at certain questionable females 
on broomsticks whom he had seen from his chamber window, 
riding in the air at night, and was in constant terror of being 
bewitched. At length, from perpetually dwelling upon this one 
idea, which, being alone in his head, had it all its own way, the 


540 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


fear of witches became the single passion of his life. He, who 
up to that time had never known what it was to dream, began to 
have visions of witches' whenever he fell asleep ; waking, they 
were incessantly present to his imagination likewise ; and, sleep- 
ing or waking, he had not a moment’s peace. He began to set 
witch-traps in the highway, and was often seen lying in wait 
round the corner for hours together, to watch their effect. 
These engines were of simple construction, usually consisting of 
two straws disposed in the form of a cross, or a piece of a Bible 
cover with a pinch of salt upon it ; but they were infallible, and 
if an old woman chanced to stumble over them (as not unfre- 
quently happened, the chosen spot being a broken and stony 
place), John started from a doze, pounced out upon her, and 
hung round her neck till assistance arrived, when she was im- 
mediately carried away and drowned. By dint of constantly 
inveigling old ladies and disposing of them in this summary 
manner, he acquired the reputation of a great public character ; 
and as he received no harm in these pursuits beyond a scratched 
face or so, he came, in course of time, to be considered witch- 
proof. ' 

There was but one person who entertained the least doubt 
of John Podgers’s gifts, and that person was his own nephew, a 
wild, roving young fellow of twenty who had been brought up in 
his uncle’s house and lived there still, — that is to say, when he 
was at home, which was not as often as it might have been. As 
he was an apt scholar, it was he who read aloud every fresh 
piece of strange and terrible intelligence that John Podgers 
bought ; and this he always did of an evening in the little porch 
in front of the house, round which the neighbors would flock in 
crowds to hear the direful news, — for people like to be frightened, 
and when they can be frightened for nothing and at another 
man’s expense, they like it all the better. 

One fine midsummer evening, a group of persons were 
gathered in this place, listening intently to Will Marks (that 
was the nephew’s name), as with his cap very much on one 
side, his arm coiled slyly round the waist of a pretty girl who 
sat beside him, and his face screwed into a comical expression 
intended to represent extreme gravity, he read — with Heaven 
knows how many embellishments of his own — a dismal account 
of a gentleman down in Northamptonshire under the influence 
of witchcraft and taken forcible possession of by the Devil, who 
was playing his very self with him. John Podgers, in a high 
sugar-loaf hat and short cloak, filled the opposite seat, and sur- 
veyed the auditory with a look of mingled pride and horror very 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


541 


edifying to see ; while the hearers, with their heads thrust for- 
ward and their mouths open, listened and trembled, and hoped 
there was a great deal more to come. Sometimes Will stopped 
for an instant to look round upon his eager audience, and then, 
with a more comical expression of face than before and a set- 
ling of himself comfortably, which included a squeeze of the 
young lady before mentioned, he launched into some new 
wonder surpassing all the others. 

The setting sun shed his last golden rays upon this little 
party who, absorbed in their present occupation, took no heed 
of the approach of night or the glory in which the day went 
down, when the sound of a horse, approaching at a good round 
trot, invading the silence of the hour, caused the reader to make 
a sudden step and the listeners to raise their heads in wonder. 
Nor was their wonder diminished when a horseman dashed up 
to the porch, and abruptly checking his steed, inquired where 
one John Podgers dwelt. 

Here! ” cried a dozen voices, while a dozen hands pointed 
out sturdy John, still basking in the terrors of the pamphlet. 

The rider, giving his bridle to one of those who surrounded 
hint, dismounted, and approached John, hat in hand, but with 
great haste. 

“Whence come ye ? ” said John. 

“ From Kingston, master.” 

“ And wherefore ? ” 

“ On most pressing business.” 

“ Of what nature ? ” 

“ Witchcraft.” 

Witchcraft ! Everybody looked aghast at the breathless 
messenger, and the breathless messenger looked equally aghast 
at everybody, — except Will Marks, who, finding himself unob- 
served, not only squeezed the young lady again, but kissed her 
twice. Surely lie must have been bewitched himself, or he 
never could have done it, — and the young lady too, or she never 
would have let him. 

“ Witchcraft ?” cried Will, drowning the sound of his last 
kiss, which was- rather a loud one. 

The messenger turned towards him, and with a frown, 
repeated the word more solemnly than before , then told his 
errand, which was in brief, that the people of Kingston had 
been greatly terrified for some nights past by hideous revels, 
held by witches beneath the gibbet within a mile of the town, 
and related and deposed to by chance wayfarers who had passed 
within ear-shot of the spot ; that the sound of their voices in 


542 


MAS TEX HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


their wild orgies had been plainly heard by many persons ; that 
three old women labored under strong suspicion, and that pre- 
cedents had been consulted and solemn council had, and it was 
found that to identify the hags some single person must watch 
upon the spot alone ; that no single person had the courage to 
perform the task, and that he hacl been despatched express to 
solicit John Podgers to undertake it that very night, as being a 
man of great renown, who bore a charmed life, and was proof 
again unholy spells. 

John received this communication with much composure, 
and said in a few words, that it would have afforded him inex- 
pressible pleasure to do the Kingston people so slight a service 
if it were not for his unfortunate propensity to fall asleep, which 
no man regretted more than himself upon the present occasion, 
but which quite settled the question. Nevertheless, he said, 
there was a gentleman present (and here he looked very hard 
at a tall farrier) who having been engaged all his life in the 
manufacture of horseshoes, must be quite invulnerable to the 
power of witches, and who, he had no doubt, from his own 
reputation for bravery and good-nature, would readily accept 
the commission. The farrier politely thanked him for his good 
opinion, which it would always be’ his study to deserve, but 
added that, with regard to the present little matter, he couldivt 
think of it on any account, as his departing on such an 
errand would certainly occasion the instant death of his wife, to 
whom as they all knew, he was tenderly attached. Now, so far 
from this circumstance being notorious, .everybody had sus- 
pected the reverse, as the farrier was in the habit of beating his 
lady rather more than tender husbands usually do ; all the mar- 
ried men present, however, applauded his resolution with great 
vehemence, and one and all declared that they would stop at 
home and die if needful (which happily it was not) in defence 
of their lawful partners. 

This burst of enthusiasm over, they began to look, as by 
one consent, toward Will Marks, who, with his cap more on one 
side than ever, sat watching the proceedings with extraordinary 
unconcern. He had never been heard openly to express his 
disbelief in witches, but had often cut such jokes at their ex- 
pense as left it to be inferred ; publicly stating on several 
occasions that he considered a broomstick an inconvenient 
charger, and one especially unsuited to the dignity of the female 
character, and indulging in other free remarks of the same 
tendency, to the great amusement of his 'wild companions. 

As they looked at Will, they began to whisper and murmur 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


543 

among themselves, and at length one man cried, “ Why don’t 
you ask Will Marks ? ” 

As this was what everybody had been thinking of, they all 
took up the word, and cried in concert, “ Ah ! why don’t you 
ask Will ? ” 

“ He don’t care,” said the farrier. 

“Not he,” added another voice in the crowd. 

“ He don’t believe in it, you know,” sneered a little man 
with a yellow face and a taunting nose and chin, which he thrust 
out from under the arm of a long man before him. 

“ Besides,” said a red-faced gentleman with a gruff voice, 
“ he’s a single man.” 

“That’s the point! ” said the farrier; and all the married 
men murmured, ah ! that was it, and they only wished they 
were single themselves ; they would show him what spirit was, 
very soon. 

The messenger looked towards Will Marks beseechingly. 

“It will be a wet night, friend, and my gray nag is tired 
after yesterday’s work — ” 

Here there was a general titter. 

“But,” resumed Will, looking about him with a smile, “ if 
nobody else puts in a better claim to go, for the credit of the 
town, I am your man, and I would be if I had to go afoot. In 
five minutes I shall be in the saddle, unless I am depriving any 
worthy gentleman here of the honor of the adventure, which I 
wouldn’t do for the world.” 

But here arose a double difficulty, for not only did John 
Podgers combat the resolution with all the words he had, which 
were not many, but the young lady combated it too with all the 
tears she had, which were very many indeed. Will, however, 
being inflexible, parried his uncle’s objections with a joke, and 
coaxed the young lady into a smile in three short whispers. 
As it was plain that he would go and set his mind upon it, John 
Podgers offered him a few first-rate charms out of his own 
pocket which he dutifully declined to accept, and the young 
lady gave him a kiss which he also returned. 

“ You see what a rare thing it is to be married,” said Will, 
“ and how careful and considerate all these husbands are. 
There’s not a man among them but his heart is leaping to fore- 
stall me in this adventure, and yet a strong sense of duty keeps 
him back. The husbands in this one little town are a pattern 
ta the world, and so must the wives be too, for that matter, or 
they could never boast half the influence they have ? ” 

Waiting for no reply to this sarcasm, he snapped his fingers 


544 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


and withdrew into the house, and thence into the stable, while 
some busied themselves in refreshing the messenger, and 
others in baiting his steed. In less than the specified time, he 
returned by another w r ay, with a good cloak hanging over his 
arm, a good sword girded by his side, and leading his good 
horse caparisoned for the journey. 

“ Now,” said Will, leaping into the saddle at a bound, “ up 
and away. Upon your mettle, friend, and push on. Good- 
night ! ” 

He kissed his hand to the girl, nodded to his drow r sy uncle, 
waved his cap to the rest, — and off they flew pell-mell, as if all 
the witches in England were in their horses’ legs. They were 
out of sight in a minute. 

The men who were left behind shook their heads doubtfully, 
stroked their chins, and shook their heads again. The farrier 
said that certainly Will Marks was a good horseman, nobody 
should ever say he denied that ; but he was rash, very rash, and 
there was no telling what the end of it might be : what did he 
go for, that was what he wanted to know ? He wished the 
young fellow no harm, but why did he go ? Everybody echoed 
these words, and shook their heads again, having done which 
they wished John Podgers good-night, and straggled home to 
bed. 

The Kingston people were in their first sleep, when Will 
Marks and his conductor rode through the town and up to the 
door of a house where sundry grave functionaries were assem- 
bled, anxiously expecting the arrival of the renowned Podgers. 
They were a little disappointed to find a gay young man in his 
place, but they put the best face upon the matter, and gave him 
full instructions how he was to conceal himself behind the 
gibbet, and watch and listen to the witches, and how at a 
certain time he was to burst forth and cut and slash among 
them vigorously, so that the suspected parties might be found 
bleeding in their beds next day, and thoroughly confounded. 
They gave him a great quantity of wholesome advice besides, 
and — which was more to the purpose with Will — a good 
supper. All these things being done, and midnight nearly 
come, they sallied forth to show him the spot where he was to 
keep his dreary vigil. 

The night was by this time dark and threatening. There 
was a rumbling of distant thunder, and a low sighing of wind 
among the trees, which was vefy dismal. The potentates of 
the town kept so uncommonly close to Will that they trod upon 
his toes, or stumbled against his ankles, or nearly tripped up 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


545 

his heels at every step he took, and, besides these annoyances, 
their teeth chattered so with fear that he seemed to be accom- 
panied by a dirge of castanets. 

At last they made a halt at the opening of a lonely, desolate 
space, and, pointing to a black object at some distance, asked 
Will if he saw that, yonder. 

“ Yes,” he replied. “ What then ? ” 

Informing him abruptly that it was the gibbet where he was 
to watch, they wished him good-night in an extremely friendly 
manner, and ran back as fast as their feet would carry them. 

Will walked boldly to the gibbet, and, glancing upward 
when he came under it, saw — certainly with satisfaction — that 
it was empty, and that nothing dangled from the top but some 
iron chains, which swung mournfully to and fro as they were 
moved by the breeze. After a careful survey of every quarter, 
he determined to take his. station with his face towards the 
town ; both because that would place him with his back to the 
wind, and because if any trick or surprise were attempted, it 
would probably come from that direction in the first instance. 
Having taken these precautions, he wrapped his cloak about 
him so that it left the handle of his sword free, and ready to 
his hand, and leaning against the gallows-tree, with his cap not 
quite so much on one side as it had been before, took up his 
position for the night. 

SECOND CHAPTER OF MR. PICKWICK’S TALE. 

% 

We left Will Marks leaning under the gibbet with his face 
towards the town, scanning the distance with a keen eye, which 
sought to pierce the darkness and catch the earliest glimpse of 
any person or persons that might approach towards him. But 
all was quiet, and save the howling of the wind as it swept 
across the heath in gusts, and the creaking of the chains that 
dangled above his head, there was no sound to break the sullen 
stillness of the night. After half an hour or so, this monotony 
became more disconcerting to Will than the most furious uproar 
would have been, and he heartily wished for some one antagonist 
with whom he might have a fair stand-up fight, if it were only 
to warm himself. 

Truth to tell, it was a bitter wind, and seemed to blow to 
the very heart of a man whose blood, heated but now with 
rapid riding, was the more sensitive to the chilling blast. Will 
was a daring fellow, and cared not a jot for hard knocks or 
sharp blades ; but he could not persuade himself to move or 

35 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


546 

walk about, having just that vague expectation of a sudden 
assault which made it a comfortable thing to have something at 
his back, even though that something were a gallows-tree. He 
had no great faith in the superstitions of the age, still such of 
them as occurred to him did not serve to lighten the time, or to 
render his situation the more endurable. He remembered how 
witches were said to repair at that ghostly hour to churchyards 
and gibbets, and such like dismal spots, to pluck the bleeding 
mandrake or scrape the flesh from dead men’s bones, as choice 
ingredients for their spells; how, stealing by night to lonely 
places, they dug graves with their finger-nails, or anointed 
themselves before riding in the air with a delicate pomatum 
made of the fat of infants newly boiled These, and many 
other fabled practices of a no less agreeable nature, and all 
having some reference to the circumstances in which he was 
placed, passed and re-passed in quick succession through the 
mind of Will Marks, and adding a shadowy dread to that dis- 
trust and watchfulness which his situation inspired, rendered it, 
upon the whole, sufficiently uncomfortable As he had foreseen, 
too, the rain began to descend heavily, and driving before the 
wind in a thick mist, obscured even those few objects which the 
darkness of the night had before imperfectly revealed. 

“ Look ! ” shrieked a voice ; “ Great Heaven, it has fallen 
down and stands erect as if it lived ! ” 

The speaker wasv close behind him ; the voice was almost at 
his ear. Will threw off his cloak, drew his sword, and darting 
swiftly round, seized a woman # by the wrist, who, recoiling from 
him with a dreadful shriek, fell struggling upon her knees. 
Another woman clad like her, whom he had grasped, in mourn- 
ing garments, stood rooted to the spot on which they were, 
gazing upon his face with wild and glaring eyes that quite 
appalled him. 

‘ k Say,” cried Will, when they had confronted each other 
thus for some time, “ what are ye ? ” 

“ Say, what are you” returned the woman, “ who trouble 
even this obscene resting-place of the dead, and strip the 
gibbet of its honored burden ? Where is the body ? ” 

He looked in wonder and affright from the woman who 
questioned him to the other whose arm he clutched. 

“ Where is the body ? ” repeated his questioner more firmly 
than before. “ You wear no livery which marks you for the 
hireling of the government. You are no friend to us, or I 
should recognize you, for the friends of such as we are few in 
number. What are you then, and wherefore are you here ” ? 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


547 

4 ‘ 1 am no foe to the distressed and helpless,” said Will, 
u Are ye among that number? ye should be by your looks.” 

“ We are ! ” was the answer. 

“ Is it ye who have been wailing and weeping here under 
cover of the night ? ” said Will. 

“It is,” replied the woman sternly; and pointing, as she 
spoke, towards her companion, “she mourns a husband and 1 a 
brother. Even the bloody law that wreaks its vengeance on the 
dead does not make that a crime, and if it did ’twould be alike 
to us who are past its fear or favor.” 

Will glanced at the two females, and could barely discern 
that the one whom he addressed was much the elder, and that 
the other was young and of a slight figure. Both were deadly 
pale, their garments wet and worn, their hair dishevelled and 
streaming in the wind, themselves bowed down with grief and 
misery ; their whole appearance most dejected, wretched and 
forlorn, A sight so different from any he had expected to en- 
counter touched him to the quick, and all idea of anything but 
their pitiable condition vanished before it. 

“ I am a rough, blunt yeoman,” said Will. “ Why I came 
here is told in a word: you have been overheard at a distance 
in the silence of the night, and I have undertaken a watch for 
hags or spirits. I came here expecting an adventure, and pre- 
pared to go through with any. If there be aught that I can do 
to help or aid you, name it, and on the faith of a man who can 
be secret and trusty, I will stand by you to the death.” 

“ How comes this gibbet to be empty?” asked the elder 
female. 

“ I swear to you,” replied Will, “ that I know as little as 
yourself. But this I know, that when I came here an hour ago 
or so, it was as it is now ; and if, as I gather from your question, 
it was not so last night, sure I am that it has been secretly dis- 
turbed without the knowledge of the folks in yonder town. Be- 
think you, therefore, whether you have no friends in league 
with you or him on whom the law has done its worst, by whom 
these sad remains have been removed for burial.” 

The women spoke together, and Will retired a pace or two 
while they conversed apart. He could hear them sob and 
moan, and saw that they wrung their hands in fruitless agony. 
He could make out little that they said, but between whiles he 
gathered enough to assure him that his suggestion was not very 
wide of the mark, and that they not only suspected by whom 
the body had been removed, but also whither it had been con- 
veyed. When they had been in conversation a long time, they 


S4 S M A S TER JIUM PUR E 1 ' ’.S’ L 7. O VIE 

turned towards him once more. 'This time the younger female 
spoke. 

“ You have offered us your help ? v 

“ I have.” 

“And given a pledge that you are still willing to re- 
deem ? ” 

“Yes. So far as I may, keeping all plots and conspiracies 
at arm’s length.” 

“ Follow us, friend.” 

Will, whose self-possession was now quite restored, needed 
no second bidding, but with his drawn sword in h is hand and 
his cloak so muffled over his left arm as to serve for a kind of 
shield without offering any impediment to its free action, suf- 
fered them to lead the way. Through mud and mire, and wind 
and rain, they walked in silence a full mile. At length they 
turned into a dark lane, where, suddenly starting out from be- 
neath some trees where he had taken shelter, a man appeared 
having in his charge three saddled horses. One of these (his 
own apparently) in obedience to a whisper from the women, he 
consigned to Will, who, seeing that they mounted, mounted also. 
Then without a word spoken, they rode on together, leaving 
the attendant behind. 

They made no halt nor slackened their pace until they ar- 
rived near Putney. At a large wooden house which stood apart 
from any other, they alighted, and giving their horses to one 
who was already waiting, passed in by a side door, and so up 
some narrow', creaking stairs into a small panelled chamber, 
where Will was left alone. He had not been here very long, 
when the door was softly opened, and there entered to him a 
cavalier whose face was concealed beneath a black mask. 

Will stood upon his guard, and scrutinized this figure from 
head to foot. The form was that of a man pretty far advanced 
in life, but of a firm and stately carriage. His dress w f as of a 
rich and costly kind) but so soiled and disordered that it was 
scarcely to be recognized for one of those gorgeous suits which 
the expensive taste and fashion of the time prescribed for men 
of any rank or station. He was booted and spurred, and bore 
about him even as many tokens of the state of the roads as 
Will himself. All this he noted, while the eyes behind the 
mask regarded him with equal attention. This survey over, the 
cavalier broke silence. 

“ Thou’rt young and bold, and wouldst be richer than thou 
art ? ” 

“The two first I am,” returned Will. “The last I have 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


549 

scarcely thought of. But be it so. Say that I would be richer 
than I am ; what then ? ” 

“The way lies before thee now,” replied the Mask. 

“ Show it me.” 

“ First let me inform thee, that thou wert brought here to- 
night lest thou shouldst too soon have told thy tale to those who 
placed thee on the watch.” 

“ I thought as much when I followed,” said Will. “ But I 
am no blab, not I.” 

“ Good,” returned the Mask. “ Now listen. Fie who was 
to have executed the enterprise of burying that body, which, 
as thou hast suspected, was taken down to-night, has left us in 
our need.” 

Will nodded, and thought 'within himself that if the Mask 
were to attempt to play any tricks, the first eyelet hole on the 
left hand side of his doublet, counting from the buttons up the 
front, would be a very good place in which to pink him neatly. 

“ Thou art here, and the emergency is desperate. I propose 
his task to thee. Convey the body (now coffined in this house), 
by means that I shall show, to the church of Saint Dunstan in 
London to-morrow night, and thy service shall be richly paid. 
Thou’rt about to ask whose corpse it is. Seek not to know. 
I warn thee, seek not to know. F'elons hang in chains on every 
moor and heath. Believe, as others do, that this was one, and 
ask no further. The murders of state policy, its victims or 
avengers, had best remain unknown to such as thee.” 

“The mystery of this service,” said Will, “bespeaks its 
danger. What is the reward ? ” 

“ One hundred golden unities,” replied the cavalier. “ The 
danger to one who cannot be recognized as the friend of a fallen 
cause is not great, but there is some hazard to be run. Decide 
between that and the reward.” 

“' What if I refuse ? ” said Will. 

“ Depart in peace, in God’s name,” returned the Mask in a 
melancholy tone, “ and keep our secret : remembering that 
those who brought thee here were crushed and stricken women, 
and that those who bade thee go free could have had thy life 
with one word, and no man the wiser.” 

Men were readier to undertake desperate adventures in those 
times than they are now. In this case the temptation was great, 
and the punishment, even in case of detection, was not likely 
to be very severe, as Will came of a loyal stock, and his uncle 
was in good repute, and a passable tale to account for his pos- 
session of the body and his ignorance of the identity, might be 


55 ° 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


easily devised. The cavalier explained that a covered cart had 
been prepared for the purpose ; that the time of departure could 
be arranged so that he should reach London Bridge at dusk, 
and proceed through the City after the day had closed in ; that 
people would be ready at his journey’s end to place the coffin 
in a vault without a minute’s delay ; that officious inquirers in 
the streets would be easily repelled by the tale that he was 
carrying for interment the corpse of one who had died of the 
plague ; and in short showed him every reason why he should 
succeed, and none why he should fail. After a time they were 
joined by another gentleman, masked like the first, who added 
new arguments to those which had been already urged ; the 
wretched wife, too, added her tears and prayers to their calmer 
representations ; and in the end, Will, moved by compassion 
and good-nature, by a love of the marvellous, by a mischievous 
anticipation of the terrors of the Kingston people' when he 
should be missing next day, and finally, by the prospect of gain, 
took upon himself the task, and devoted all his energies to its 
successful execution. 

The following night, when it was quite dark, the hollow 
echoes of old London Bridge responded to the rumbling of the 
cart which contained the ghastly load, the object of Will 
Marks’s care. Sufficiently disguised to attract no attention by 
his garb, Will walked at the horse’s head, as unconcerned as a 
man could be who was sensible that he had now arrived at the 
most dangerous part of his undertaking, but full of boldness 
and confidence. 

It was now eight o’clock. After nine, none could walk the 
streets without danger of their lives, and even at this hour, 
robberies and murder were of no uncommon occurrence. The 
shops upon the bridge were all closed ; the low wooden arches 
thrown across the way were like so many black pits, in every 
one ot which ill-favored fellows lurked in knots of three or 
four; some standing upright against the wall, lying in wait ; 
others skulking in gateways, and thrusting out their uncombed 
heads and scowling eyes ; others crossing and re-crossing, and 
constantly jostling both horse and man to provoke a quarrel ; 
others stealing away and summoning their companions in a low 
whistle. Once, even in that short passage-, there was the noise 
of scuffling and the clash of swords behind him, but Will, who 
knew the city and its ways, kept straight on and scarcely turned 
his head. 

The streets being unpaved, the rain of the night before had 
converted them into a perfect quagmire, which the splashing 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


55 * 

water-spouts from the gables, and the filth and offal cast from 
the different houses, swelled in no small degree. These odious 
matters being left to putrefy in the close and heavy air, emitted 
an insupportable stench, to which every court and passage 
poured forth a contribution of its own. Many parts, even of 
the main streets, with their projecting stories tottering overhead 
and nearly shutting out the sky, were more like huge chimneys 
than open ways. At the corners of some of these, great bon- 
fires were burning to prevent infection from the plague, of 
which it was rumored that some citizens had lately died ; and 
few, who availing themselves of the light thus afforded, paused 
for a moment to look around them, would have ■been disposed 
to doubt the existence of the disease, or wonder at its dreadful 
visitations. 

But it was not in such scenes as these, or even in the deep 
and miry road, that Will Marks found the chief obstacles to 
his progress. There were kites and ravens feeding in the 
streets (the only scavengers the City kept), who, scenting what 
he carried, followed the cart or fluttered on its top, and croaked 
their knowledge of it’s burden and their ravenous appetite for 
prey. There were distant fires, where the poor wood and plas- 
ter tenements wasted fiercely, and whither crowds made their 
way, clamoring eagerly for plunder, beating down all who came 
within their reach, and yelling like devils let loose. There 
were single-handed men flying from bands of ruffians, who pur- 
sued them with naked weapons, and hunted them savagely ; 
there were drunken, desperate robbers issuing from their dens 
and staggering through the open streets where no man dared 
molest them ; there were vagabond servitors returning from 
the Bear Garden, where had been good sport that day, drag- 
ging after them their torn and bleeding dogs, or leaving them 
to die and rot upon the road. Nothing was abroad but cruelty, 
violence, and disorder. 

Many were the interruptions which Will Marks encountered 
from these stragglers, and many the narrow escapes he made, 
Now some stout bully would take his seat upon the cart, in- 
sisting to be driven to his own home, and now two or three 
men would come down u'pon him together and demand that on 
peril of his life he showed them what he had inside. Then a 
party of the City Watch, upon their rounds, would draw across 
the road, and not satisfied with his tale, question him closely, 
and revenge themselves by a little cuffing and hustling and 
maltreatment sustained at other hands that night. All these 
assailants had to be rebutted, some by fair words, some by 


00 “ 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


foul, and some by blows. But Will Marks was not the man 
to be stopped or turned back now he had penetrated so far, 
and though he got on slowly, still he made his way down Fleet 
Street and reached the church at last. 

As he had been forewarned, all was in readiness. Directly 
lie stopped, the coffin was removed by four men who appeared 
so suddenly that they seemed to have started from the earth. 
A fifth mounted the cart, and scarcely allowing Will time to 
snatch from it a little bundle containing such of his own clothes 
as he had thrown off on assuming his disguise, drove briskly 
away. Will never saw cart or man again. 

He followed the body into the church, and it was well he 
lost no time in doing so, for the door was immediately closed. 
There was no light in the building save that which came from 
a couple of torches borne by two men in cloaks who stood 
upon the brink of a vault. Each supported a female figure, 
and all observed a profound silence. 

By this dim and solemn glare, which made Will feel as 
though light itself were dead, and its tomb the dreary arches 
tiiat frowned above, they placed the coffin in the vault, with 
uncovered heads, and closed it up. One of the torch-bearers 
then turned to Will and stretched forth his hand, in which was 
a purse of gold. Something told him directly that those were 
the same eyes which he had seen beneath the mask. 

“ Take it,” said the cavalier in a low voice, “ and be happy. 
Though these have been hasty obsequies, and no priest has 
blessed the work, there will not be the’ less peace with thee 
hereafter, for having laid his bones beside those of his little 
children. Keep thy own counsel, for thy sake no less than 
ours, and God be with thee ! ” 

“The blessing of a widowed mother on thy head, good 
friend 1 ” cried the younger lady through her tears ; “ the bless- 
ing of one who has now no hope or rest but in this grave ! ” 
Will stood with the purse in his hand, and involuntarily 
made a gesture as though he would return it, for though a 
thoughtless fellow, he was of a frank and generous nature. But 
the two gentlemen, extinguishing their torches, cautioned him 
to be gone, as their common safety wpuld be endangered by a 
longer delay ; and at the same time their retreating footsteps 
sounded through the church. He turned, therefore, towards 
the point at which he had entered, and seeing by a faint gleam 
in the distance that the door was again partially open, groped 
his way towards it and so passed into the street. 

Meantime the local authorities of Kingston had kept watch 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK'. 


553 

ancl ward all the previous night, fancying every now and then 
that dismal shrieks were borne towards them on the wind, and 
frequently winking to each other and drawing closer to the fire 
as the) 7 drank the health of the lonely sentinel, upon whom a 
clerical gentleman present was especially severe by reason of 
his levity and youthful folly. Two or three of the gravest in 
company, who were of theological turn, propounded to him the 
question whether such a character was not but poorly armed 
for single combat with the devil, and whether he himself would 
not have been a stronger opponent; but the clerical gentle- 
man, sharply reproving them for their presumption in discuss- 
ing such questions, clearly showed that a fitter champion than 
YY r ill could scarcely have been selected, not only for that being 
a child of Satan, he was the less likely to be alarmed by the ap- 
pearance of his own father, but because Satan himself would 
be at his ease in such company, and would not scruple to kick 
up his heels to an extent which it was quite certain he would 
never venture before clerical eyes, under whose influence (as 
was notorious) he became quite a tame and milk-and-water 
character. 

But when next morning arrived, and with it no Will Marks, 
and when a strong party repairing to the spot, as a strong 
party ventured to do in broad day, found Will gone and the 
gibbet empty, matters grew serious indeed. The day passing 
away and no news arriving, and the night going on also without 
any intelligence, the thing grew more tremendous still ; in 
short, the neighborhood worked itself up to such a comfortable 
pitch of mystery and horror that it is a great question whether 
the general feeling was not one of excessive disappointment, 
when, on the second morning, Will Marks returned. 

However this may be, back Will came in a very cool and 
collected state, and appearing not to trouble himself much 
about anybody except old John Podgers, who having been 
sent for, was sitting in the Town Hall crying slowly and 
dozing between whiles.- Having embraced his uncle and as- 
sured him of his safety, Will mounted on a table and told his 
story to the crowd. 

And surely they would have been the most unreasonable 
crowd that ever assembled together, if they had been in the 
least respect disappointed with the tale he told them, for be- 
sides describing the Witches’ Dance to the minutest motion of 
their legs, and performing it in character on the table, with the 
assistance of a broomstick, he related how they had carried off 
the body in a copper caldron, and so bewitched him that he 


554 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


lost his senses until he found himself lying under a hedge at 
least ten miles off, whence he had straightway returned as they 
then beheld. The story gained such universal applause that it 
soon afterwards brought down express from London the great 
witch-finder of the age, the Heaven-born Hopkins, who having 
examined Will closely on several points, pronounced it the 
most extraordinary and the best accredited witch story ever 
known; under which title it was published at the Three-Bibles 
on London Bridge, in small quarto, with a view of the caldron 
from an original drawing, and a portrait of the clerical gentle- 
man as he sat by the fire. 

On one point Will was particularly careful : and that was 
to describe for the witches he had seen, three impossible old 
females whose likenesses never were or will be. Thus he 
saved the lives of the suspected parties, and of all other old 
women who were dragged before him to be identified. 

This circumstance occasioned John Podgers much grief and 
sorrow, until happening one day to cast his eyes upon his 
housekeeper, and observing her to be plainly afflicted with 
rheumatism, he procured her to be burnt as an undoubted witch. 
For this service to the state he was immediately knighted, and 
became from that time Sir John Podgers. 

Will Marks never gained any clew to the mystery in which 
he had been an actor, nor did any inscription in the church, 
which he often visited afterwards, nor any of the limited in- 
quiries that he dared to make, yield him the least assistance. 
As he kept his own secret, he was compelled to spend the 
gold discreetly and sparingly. In the course of time he mar- 
ried the young lady of whom I have already told you, whose 
maiden name is not recorded, with whom he led a prosperous 
and happy life. Years and years after this adventure, it was 
his wont to tell her upon a stormy night that it was a great 
comfort to him to think those bones, to whomsoever they 
might have once belonged, were not bleaching in the troubled 
air, but were mouldering away with the dust of their own kith 
and kindred in a quiet grave. 


FURTHER PARTICULARS OF MASTER HUMPHREY’S VISITOR. 

Being very full of Mr. Pickwick’s application, and highly 
pleased with the compliment he had paid me, it will be readily 
supposed that long before our next night of meeting I com- 
municated it to my three friends, who unanimously voted his 
admission into our body. We all looked forward with some 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK \ 


j 


impatience to the occasion which would enroll him among us, 
but I am greatly mistaken if Jack Redburn and myself were 
not by many degrees the most impatient of the party. 

At length the night came, and a few minutes after ten Mr. 
Pickwick’s knock was heard at the street door. He was shown 
into a lower room, and I directly took my crooked stick and 
went to accompany him up stairs, in order that he might be 
presented with all honor and formality. 

“ Mr.Pickwick,” said I on entering the room, “ I am rejoiced 
to see you, — rejoiced to believe that this is but the opening of 
a long series of visits to this house, and but the beginning of a 
close and lasting friendship.” 

That gentleman made a suitable reply with a cordiality and 
frankness peculiarly his own, and glanced with a smile towards 
two persons behind the door, whom I had not at first observed, 
and whom I immediately recognized as Mr. Samuel Weller 
and his father. 

It was a warm evening, but the elder Mr, Weller was at- 
tired, notwithstanding, in a most capacious great-coat, and his 
chin enveloped in a large speckled shawl, such as is- usually 
worn by stage coachmen on active service. Pie looked very 
irosy and very stout, especially about the legs, which appeared 
to have been compressed into his top-boots with some diffi- 
culty. His broad-brimmed hat he held under his left arm, and 
with the forefinger of his right hand he touched his forehead 
a great many times in acknowledgment of my presence. 

“ I am very glad to see you in such good health, Mr. Wel- 
ler,” said I. 

“ Why, thankee, sir,” returned Mr. Weller, “ the axle an’t 
broke yet. We keeps up a steady pace, — not too sewere but 
vith a moderate degree o’ friction, — and the consekens is that 
ve’re still a runnin’ and comes in to the time reg’lar. — My son 
Samivel, sir, as you may have read on in history,” added Mr. 
Weller, introducing his first-born. 

I received Sam very graciously, but before he could say a 
word his father struck in again. 

“ Samivel Veller, sir,” said the old gentleman, “has con- 
ferred upon me the ancient title o’ grandfather vich had long 
laid dormouse, and wos s’posed to be nearly hex-tinct in our 
family. Sammy, relate a anecdote o’ vun o’ them boys, — that 
’ere little anecdote about young Tony sayin’ as he vould smoke 
a pipe unbeknown to his mother.” 

“ Be quiet, can’t you ? ” said Sam ; “ I never see such a 
old magpie — never ! ” 

24 


MASTER lfVMFirREY'S CLOCK. 


556 

“That ’ere Tony is the blessedest boy,” said Mr. Weller, 
heedless of this rebuff, — “ the blessedest boy as ever /see in 
my days ! of all the charmin’est infants as ever I heerd tell on, 
includin’ them as wos kivered overby the robin-redbreasts arter 
they’d committed sooicide with blackberries, there never wos 
any like that ’ere little Tony. Hq’s alvays a playin’ vith a 
quart pot, that boy is ! To see him a settin’ down on the door- 
step pretending to drink out of it, and fetching a long breath 
artervards, and smoking a bit of fire-vood and savin’, ‘ Now 
I’m grandfather,’ — to see him a doin’ that at two year old is 
better thair any play as wos ever' wrote. ‘Now I’m grand- 
father ! ’ He wouldn’t take a pint pot if you wos to make him 
a present on it, but he gets his quart, and then he says, ‘ Now 
I’m grandfather !’ ” 

Mr. Weller was so overpowered by this picture that he 
straightway fell into a most alarming fit of coughing, which 
must certainly have been attended with some fatal result but 
for the dexterity and promptitude of Sam, who, taking a firm 
grasp of the shawl just under his father’s chin, shook him to 
and fro with great violence, at the same time administering 
some smart blows between his shoulders. By this curious 
mode of treatment Mr. Weller was finally recovered, but with 
a very crimson face, and in a state of great exhaustion. 

“ He’ll do now, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, who had been in 
some alarm himself. 

“ He’ll do, sir ! ” cried Sam, looking reproachfully at his 
parent. “Yes, he will do one o’ these days, — he’ll do for his- 
self and then he’ll wish he hadn’t. Did anybody ever see sich 
a inconsiderate old file, — laughing into conwulsions afore com- 
pany, and stamping on the floor as if he’d brought his own 
carpet vith him and wos under a wager to punch the pattern 
out in a given time? He’ll begin again in a minute. There, — 
he’s agoin’ off, — I said he would ! ” 

In fact, Mr. Weller, whose mind was still, running upon his 
precocious grandson, was seen to shake his head from side' to 
side, while a laugh, working like an earthquake, below the sur- 
face, produced various extraordinary appearances in his face, 
chest, and shoulders, — the more alarming because unaccom- 
panied by any noise whatever. These emotions, however, 
gradually .subsided, and after three or four short relapses he 
wiped his eyes with the cuff of his coat, and looked about him 
with tolerable composure. 

“Afore the governor vith-draws,” said Mr. Weller, “ there 
is a pint, respecting vich Sammy had a qvestion to ask. Vile 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


557 

that qvestion is a perwadin’ this here conwersation, p’raps the 
genFmen vili permit me to re-tire.” 

“Wot are you goin’ away for?” demanded Sam, seizing 
his father by the coat-tail. 

“ I never see such a undootiful boy as you, Samivel,” re- 
turned Mr. Weller. “ Didn’t you make a solemn promise, 
amountin’ almost to a speeches o’ wow, that you’d put that ere 
qvestion- on my account?” 

“ Well, I’m agreeable to do it,” said Sam, “but not if you 
go cuttin’ away like that, as the bull turned round and mildly 
observed to the drover ven they wos a goadin’ him into the 
butcher’s door. The fact is, sir,” said Sam, addressing me, 
“ that he wants to know somethin’ respectin’ that ’ere lady as 
is housekeeper here.” 

“ Ay. What is that ? ” 

“Vy, sir,” said Sam, grinning still more, “he wishes to 
know vether she — ’’ 

“ In short,” interposed old Mr. Weller, decisively, a per- 
spiration breaking out upon his forehead, “ vether that ’ere 
old creetur is or is not a widder.” 

Mr. Pickwick laughed heartily, and so did I, as I replied, 
decisively, that “ my housekeeper was a spinster.” 

“ There ! ” cried Sam, “ now you’re satisfied. You hear 
she’s a spinster.” 

“ A wot ? ” said his father with deep scorn. 

“ A spinster,” replied Sam. 

Mr. Weller looked very hard at his son for a minute or two, 
and then said, — - 

“ Never mind vether she makes jokes or not, that’s no 
matter. Wot I say is, is that ’ere female a widder, or is she 
not ? ” 

“ Wot do you mean by her making jokes? ” demanded Sam, 
quite aghast at the obscurity of his parent’s speech. 

“ Never you mind, Samivel,” returned Mr. Weller, gravely / 
“puns may be wery good things or they may be wery bad ’uns, 
and a female may be none the better or she may be none the 
vurse for making of ’em ; that’s got nothing to do vith wid- 
ders.” 

“ Wy now,” said Sam, looking round, '“ would anybody be- 
lieve as a man at his time o’ life could be a running his head 
ag’in spinsters and punsters being the same thing ? ” 

“ There an’t a straw’s difference between ’em,” said Mr. 
Weller. “ Your father didn’t drive a coach for so many years, 
not to be ekal to his own langvidge as far as that goes, Sammy.” 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


55 * 

Avoiding the question of etymology, upon which ' the old 
gentleman’s mind was quite made up, he w r as several times as- 
sured that the housekeeper had never been married. He ex- 
pressed great satisfaction on hearing this, and apologized for 
the question, remarking that he had been greatly terrified by a 
widow not long before, and that his natural timidity was in- 
creased in consequence. 

“ It wos on the rail,” said Mr. Weller, with strong emphasis ; 
“ I wos a goin’ down to Birmingham by the rail, and I wos 
locked up in a close carriage vith a living widder. Alone we 
wos ; the widder and me wos alone ; and I believe it wos only 
because we wos alone and there wos no clergyman in the con- 
wayance, that that ’ere widder didn’t marry me afore ve reached 
the half-way station. Ven I think how she began a screaming 
as we wos a goin’ under them tunnels in the dark, — how she 
kept on a faintin’ and ketchin’ he LI o’ me, — and how I tried to 
burst open the door as was tight-locked and perwented all es- 
cape — Ah ! It was a awful thing, most awful ! ” 

Mr. Weller was so very much overcome by this retrospect 
that he was unable, until he had wiped his brow several times, 
to return any reply to the question whether he approved of rail- 
way communication, notwithstanding that it would appear from 
the answer which he ultimately gave, that he entertained strong 
opinions on the subject. 

“ I con-sider,” said Mr. Weller, “ that the rail is unconsti- 
tootional and an inwaser o’ priwileges, and I should wery much 
like to know what that ’ere old Carter as once stood up for our 
liberties and wun ’em too, — I should like to know wot he vould 
say if he wos alive now, to Englishmen being locked up with 
widders, or with anybody again their wills. Wot a 'old Carter 
would have said, a old Coachman may say, and I as-sert that 
in that pint o’ view alone, the rail is an inwaser. As to the 
.comfort, vere’s the comfort o’ sittin’ in a harm-cheer lookin’ at 
brick walls or heaps o’ mud, never cornin’ to a public-house, 
never seein’ a glass o’ ale, never goin’ through a pike, never 
meetin’ a change o’ no kind (horses or othervise), but alvays 
cornin’ to a place, ven you come to one at all, the wery picter 
o’ the last, vith the s.ame p’leesemen standing about the same 
blessed old bell a ringin’, the same unfort’nate people standing 
behind the bars, a waitin’ to be let in ; and everythin’ the same 
except the name, vich is wrote up in the same sized letters as 
the last name, and vith the same colors. As to the honor and 
dignity o’ travellin’, vere can that be vithout a coachman ; and 
wot’s the rail to sich coachmen and guards as is sometimes 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


559 


forced to go by it, but a outrage and a insult ? As to the pace, 
wot sort o’ pace do you think I, Tony Veller, could have kept 
a coach goin’ at for five hundred thousand pound a mile, paid in 
adwance afore the coach was on the road ? And as to the in- 
gein, — a nasty, wheezin’, creaking, gasping, puffin’, bustin’ 
monster, alvays out o’ breath, vith a shiny green and gold 
back, like a unpleasant beetle in that ’ere gas magnifier, — as 
to the ingein as is alvays a pourin’ out red-hot coals at night, 
and black smoke in the day, the sensiblest thing it does in my 
opinion, is, ven there’s somethin’ in the vay and it sets up that 
: ere frightful scream vich seems to say, ‘ Now here’s two hun- 
dred and forty passengers in the wery greatest extremity o : 
danger, and here’s their two hundred and forty screams in 
vun ! ' r 

By this time I began to fear that my friends would be ren- 
dered impatient by my protracted absence. I therefore begged 
Mr. Pickwick to- accompany me up stairs, and left the two Mr. 
Wellers in the care of the housekeeper; laying strict injunc- 
tions upon her to treat them with all possible hospitality. 


MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK. 

IV. 


THE CLOCK. 

As we were going up stairs, Mr. Pickwick put on his spec- 
tacles, which he had held in his hand hitherto ; arranged his 
neckerchief, smothed down his waistcoat, and made many othei 
little preparations of that kind which men are accustomed to be 
mindful of, when they are going among strangers for the first 
time, and are anxious to impress them pleasantly. Seeing that 
I smiled, he smiled too, and said that if it had occurred to him 
before he left home, he would certainly have presented himself 
in pumps and silk stockings. 

“I would indeed, my dear sir,” he said, very seriously-; “I 
would |iave shown my respect for the society, by laying aside 
my gaiters.” 

“ You may rest assured,” said I, “ that they would have re- 
gretted your doing so very much, for they are quite Attached to 
them.” 

“ No, really ! ” cried Mr. Pickwick, with manifest pleasure. 
“ Do you think they care about my gaiters ? Do you seriously 
think that they identify me at all with my gaiters ? ” 

“ I am sure they do,” I replied. 

“ Well, now,” said Mr. Pickwick, “that is one of the most 
charming and agreeable circumstances that could possibly have 
occurred to me ! ” 

I should not have writen down this short conversation, but 
that it developed a slight point in Mr. Pickwick’s character, 
with which I was not previously acquainted. He has a secret 
pride in his legs. The manner in which he spoke, and the ac- 
companying glance he bestowed upon his tights, convince me 
that Mr. Pickwick regards his legs with much innocent vanity. 

“But here are our friends,” said I, opening the door and 


MASTER HUMPH RE V 'S CLOCK. 


561 


taking his arm in mine ; “ let them speak for themselves. 
Gentlemen, I present to you Mr. Pickwick.” 

Mr. Pickwick and I must have been a good contrast just then. 
I, leaning quietly on my crutch-stick, with something of a care- 
worn, patient air ; he, having hold of my arm, and bowing in every 
direction with the most elastic politeness, and an expression of 
face whose sprightly cheerfulness and good-humor knew no 
bounds. The difference between 11s must have been more striking 
yet as we advanced towards the table, and the amiable gentle- 
man, adapting his jocund step to my poor tread, had his at- 
tention divided between treating my infirmities with the utmost 
consideration, and affecting to be wholly unconscious that I 
required any. 

I made him personally known to each of my friends in turn, 
hirst, to the deaf gentleman, whom he regarded with much in- 
terest, and accosted with great frankness and cordiality. He 
had evidently some vague idea, at the moment, that my friend 
being deaf must be dumb also : for when the latter opened his 
lips to express the pleasure it afforded him to know a gentle- 
man of whom he had heard so much, Mr. Pickwick was so ex- 
tremely disconcerted that I was obligecf to step in to his relief. 

His meeting with Jack Redburn was quite a treat to see. 
Mr. Pickwick smiled, and shook hands, and looked at him 
through his spectacles, and under them, and over them, and 
nodded his head approvingly, and then nodded to me, as much 
as to say, “ This is just the man ; you were quite right ; ” and 
then turned to Jack and said a few hearty words, and then did 
and said everything over again with unimpaired vivacity. As 
to Jack himself, he was quite as much delighted with Mr. Pick- 
wick, as Mr. Pickwick could possibly be with him. Two peo- 
ple never can have met together since the world began, who 
exchanged a warmer or more -enthusiastic greeting. 

It was amusing to observe the difference between this en- 
counter, and that which succeeded, between Mr. Pickwick and 
Mr. Miles. It was clear that the latter gentleman viewed our 
new member as a kind of rival in the affections of Jack Redburn, 
and besides this, he had more than once hinted to me, in secret, 
that although he had no doubt Mr. Pickwick was a very worthy 
man, still, he did consider that some of his exploits were un- 
becoming a gentleman of his years and gravity. Over and 
above these grounds of distrust, it is one of his fixed opinions 
that the law never can by possibility do anything wrong ; he 
therefore looks upon Mr. Pickwick as one who has justly suf- 
fered in curse and peace for a breach of his plighted faith to 

36 


5,62 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


an unprotected female, and holds that he is called upon to re- 
gard him with some suspicion on that account. These causes 
led to a rather cold and formal reception ; which Mr. Pickwick 
acknowledged with the same stateliness and intense politeness 
as was displayed on the other side. Indeed, he assumed an 
air of such majestic defiance that I was fearful he might break 
out into some solemn protest or declaration, and therefore in- 
ducted him into his chair without a moment’s delay. 

This piece of generalship was perfectly successful. The 
instant he took his seat, Mr. Pickwick surveyed us all with a 
most benevolent aspect, and was taken with a fit of smiling full 
five minutes long. His interest in our ceremonies was immense. 
They are not very numerous or complicated, and a description 
of them may be comprised in very few words As our transac- 
tions have already been, and must necessarily continue to be, 
more or less anticipated by being presented in these pages at 
different times and under various forms, they do not require a 
detailed account. 

Our first proceeding when we are assembled is to shake 
hands all round, and greet each other with cheerful and pleasant 
looks. Remembering that we assemble not only for the pro- 
moiion of our happiness, but with the view of adding something 
to the common stock, an air of languor or indifference in any 
member of our body would be regarded by the others as a kind 
of treason. We have never had an offender in this respect ; 
but if we had, there is no doubt that he would be taken to task 
pretty severely. 

Our salutation over, the venerable piece of antiquity from 
which we take our name is wound up in silence. This cere- 
mony is always performed by Master Humphrey himself (in 
treating of the club, I may be permitted to assume the historical 
style, and speak of myself in the third person), who mounts 
upon a chair for the purpose, armed with a large key. While 
it is in progress, Jack Redburn is required to keep fit the 
farther end of the room under the guardianship of Mr. Miles, 
for he is known to entertain certain aspiring and unhallowed 
thoughts connected with the clock, and has even gone so far 
as to state that if he might take the works out for a day or two, 
he thinks he could improve them. We pardon him his presump- 
tion iiTconsideration of his good intentions, and his keeping 
this respectful distance, which last penalty is insisted on, lest 
by secretly wounding the object of our regard in some tender 
part, in the ardor of his zeal for its improvement, he should fill 
us all with dismay and consternation. 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CROCK ; 563 

This regulation afforded Mr. Pickwick the highest delight, 
and seemed, if possible, to exalt Jack in his good opinion. 

The next ceremony is the opening of the clock-case (of 
which Master Humphrey has likewise the key), the taking from 
it as many papers as will furnish forth our evening’s entertain- 
ment, and arranging in the recess such new contributions as have 
been provided since our last meeting. This is always done 
with peculiar solemnity. The deaf gentleman then fills and 
lights his pipe, and we once more take our seats round the table 
before mentioned, Master Humphrey acting as president, — if 
we can be said to have any president, where all are on the same 
social footing, — and our friend Jack as secretary. Our prelim- 
inaries being now concluded, we fall into any train of ccn.ersa- 
tion that happens to suggest itself, or proceed immediately to 
one of our readings. In the latter case, the paper selected is 
consigned to Master Humphrey, who flattens it carefully on 
the table and makes dogs’ ears in the corner of every page, 
ready for turning over easily; Jack Redburn trims the lamp 
with a small machine of his own invention, which usually puts 
it out Mr. Miles looks on with great approval notwithstanding ; 
the deaf gentleman draws in his chair, so that he can follow 
the words on the paper or on Master Humplnrey’s lips as he 
pleases ; and Master Humphrey himself, looking round with 
mighty gratification, and glancing up at his old clock, begins to 
read aloud. 

Mr. Pickwick’s face, while his tale was being read, would 
have attracted the attention of the dullest man alive. The 
complacent motion of his head and forefinger as he gently beat 
time and corrected the air with imaginary punctuation, the smile 
that mantled on his -features at every jocose passage, and the 
sly look he stole around to observe its effect, the calm manner 
in which he shut his eyes and listened when there was some 
little piece of description, the changing expression with which 
he acted the dialogue to himself, his agony that the deaf gentle- 
man should know what it was all about, and his extraordinary 
anxiety to correct the reader when he hesitated at a word in 
the manuscript, or substituted a wrong one, were alike worthy 
of remark. And when at last, endeavoring to communicate 
with the deaf gentleman by means of the finger alphabet, with 
which he constructed such words as are- unknown to any civ- 
ilized or savage language, he took up a slate and wrote in large 
text,’ one word in a line, the question, “Plow — do — you — like — 
it?” When he did this, and handing it over the table awaited 
the reply, with a countenance only brightened and improved bj 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5 6 4 

his great excitement, even Mr. Miles relaxed, and could not 
forbear looking at him for the moment with interest and favor. 

“ It has occurred to me,” said the deaf gentleman, who had 
watched Mr. Pickwick and everybody else with silent satisfac- 
tion, — “ it has occurred to me,” said the deaf gentleman, taking 
Ins pipe from his lips, “ that now is our time for filling our only 
empty chair.” 

As our conversation had naturally turned upon the vacant 
seat, we lent a willing ear to this remark, and looked at cur 
friend inquiringly. 

“ I feel sure,” said he, “ that Mr. Pickwick must be ac- 
quainted with somebody who would be an acquisition to us ; 
that he must know the man we want. Pray let us not lose any 
time, but set this question at rest. Is it so, Mr. Pickwick ? ” 

The gentleman addressed was about to return a verbal reply, 
but remembering our friend’s infirmity, he substituted for this 
kind of answer some fifty nods. Then taking up the slate and 
printing on it a gigantic “ Yes,” he handed it across the table, 
and rubbing his hands as he looked round upon our faces, pro- 
tested that he and the deaf gentleman quite understood each 
other, already. 

“ The person I have in my mind,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ and 
whom I should not have presumed to mention to you until 
some time hence, but for the opportunity you have given me, 
is a very strange old man. His name is Bamber.” 

“ Bamber ! ” said Jack. “ I have certainly heard the name 
before.” 

“ I have no doubt, then,” returned Mr. Pickwick, “ that 
you remember him in those adventures of mine (the Posthu- 
mous Papers of our old club, I mean), although he is only inci- 
dentally mentioned ; and, if I remember right, appears but 
once.” 

“That’s it,” said Jack. “Let me see. He is the person 
who has a grave interest in old mouldy chambers and the Inns 
of Court, and who relates some anecdotes having reference to 
his favorite theme, — and an old ghost story, — is that the 
man ? ” 

“ The very same.- Now,” said Mr. Pickwick, lowering his 
voice to a mysterious and confidential tone, “ he is a very ex- 
traordinary and remarkable person ; living, and talking, and 
looking, like some strange spirit, whose delight is to haunt old 
buildings ; and absorbed in that one subject which you have 
just mentioned, to an extent which is quite wonderful. When 
I retired 'into private life, l sought him out, and I do assure 


J/AS TER HUM PURE ) ’ '.V ( 7. Of 'K. 


you that the more I see of him, the more strongly I am im* 
pressed with the strange and dreamy character of his mind.” 

“ Where does he live ? ” I inquired. 

“He lives,” said Mr. Pickwick, “in one of those dull, 
lonely old places with which his thoughts and stories are all 
connected ; quite alone, and often shut up close, for several 
weeks together. In this dusty solitude he broods upon the 
fancies he has so long indulged, and when he goes into the 
world, or anybody from the world without goes to see him, they 
are still present to his mind and still his favorite topic. Iinay 
say, I believe, that he has brought himself to entertain a regard 
for me, and an interest in my visits ; feelings which 1 am cer- 
tain he would extend to Master Humphrey’s Clock if he were 
once tempted to join us. All I wish you to understand is, that 
he is a strange secluded visionary, in the world but not of it ; 
and as unlike anybody here as he is unlike anybody elsewhere 
that I have ever met or known.” 

Mr. Miles received this account of our proposed companion 
with rather a wry face, and after murmuring that perhaps he 
was a little mad, inquired if he were rich. 

“ I never asked him,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ You might know, sir, for all that,” retorted Mr. Miles, 
sharply. 

“ Perhaps so, sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, no less sharply than 
the .other, “but I do not. Indeed,” he added, relapsing into 
his usual mildness, “ I have no means of judging. He lives 
poorly, but that would seem to be in keeping with his character. 
I never heard him allude to his circumstances, and never fell 
into the society of any man who had the slightest acquaintance 
with them. I have really told you all I know about him, and 
it rests with you to say whether you wish to know more, or 
know quite enough already.” 

We were unanimously of opinion that we would seek to 
know more ; and as a sort of compromise with Mr. Miles (who, 
although lie said, “ Yes, — O, certainly, — he should like to know 
more about the gentleman, — he had no right to put himself in 
opposition to the general wish,” and so forth, shook his head 
doubtfully, and hemmed several times with peculiar gravity), it 
was arranged that Mr. Pickwick should carry me with him on 
an evening visit to the subject of our discussion, for which pur- 
pose an early appointment between that gentleman and myself 
was immediately agreed upon ; it being understood that 1 was 
to act upon my own responsibility, and to invite him to join us 
or not. as I might think proper. * This solemn question deter- 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


566 

mined, we returned to the clock-case (where we have been 
forestalled by the reader), and between its contents, and the 
conversation they occasioned, the remainder of our time passed 
very quickly. 

When we broke up, Mr. Pickwick took me aside to tell me 
that he had spent a most charming and delightful evening. 
Having made this communication with an air of the strictest 
secrecy, he took Jack Redburn into another corner to tell him 
the same, and then retired into another corner with the deaf gen- 
tleman and the slate, to repeat the assurance. It was amusing 
to observe the contest in his mind whether he should extend his 
confidence to Mr. Miles, or treat him with dignified reserve. 
Half a dozen times he stepped up behind him with a friendly 
air, and as often stepped back again without saying a word ; at 
last, when he was close at that gentleman’s ear and upon the 
very point of whispering something conciliating and agreeaole, 
Mr. Miles happened suddenly to turn his head, upon which Mr. 
Pickwick skipped away, and said with some fierceness, “ Good- 
night, sir, — I was about to say good-night, sir, — nothing more 
and so made a bow and left him. 

“ Now, Sam,” said Mr. Pickw'ick when he had got down ■ 
stairs. 

“All right, sir,” replied Mr. Weller. “Hold hard, sir. 
Right arm fust,— now the left, — now one strong conwulsion, 
and the great-coat’s on, sir.” 

Mr. Pickwick acted upon these directions, and being further 
assisted by Sam, who pulled at one side of the collar, and Mr. 
Weller, who pulled hard at the other, was speedily enrobed. 
Mr. Weller senior then produced a full-sized stable lantern, 
which he had carefully deposited in a remote corner, on his ar- 
rival, and inquired whether Mr. Pickwick would have “ the 
lamps alight.” 

“ I think not to-night,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Then if this here lady vill per-mit me,” rejoined Mr. Wel- 
ler, “ we’ll leave it here, ready for next journey. This here 
lantern, mum,” said Mr. Weller, handing it to the housekeeper, 

“ vunce belonged to the celebrated Bill Blinder as is now at 
grass, as all on us vill be in our turns. Bill, mum, wos the 
hostler as had charge o’ them two veil-known piebald leaders 
that run in the Bristol fast coach, and vould never go to no other 
tune but a sutherly vind and a cloudy sky, which wos consek- 
vently played incessant, by the guard, wenever they wos on 
duty. He wos took wery bad one arternoon, arter having been 
off his feed, and wery .shaky on ; hi$. legs for some veeks ; and 


MASTER' HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


567 

he says to his mate, ‘Matey,’ he says, ‘I think I’m a-goin’ the 
wrong side o’ the post, and that my foot's werynear the bucket. 
Don’t say I an’t,’ he says, ‘for I know I am, and don’t let me 
be interrupted,’ he says, 4 for I’ve saved a little money, and 
I’m a-goin’ into the stable to make my last vill and testymint.’ 
‘I’ll take care as nobody interrupts,’ says his mate, ‘but you 
on’y hold up your head, and shake your ears a bit, and you’re 
good for twenty years to come.’ Bill Blinder makes him no 
answer, but he goes avay into the stable, and there he soon 
artervards lays himself down a’tween the two piebalds, and 
dies, — prevously a-writin’ outside the corn-chest, ‘ This is the 
last vill and testymint of Villiam Blinder.’ They wos nat’rally 
wery much amazed at this, and arter looking among the litter, 
and up in the loft, and vere not, they opens the corn-chest, and 
finds that he’d been and chalked his vill inside the lid ; so the 
lid wos obligated to be took off the hinges, and sent up to 
Doctor Commons to be proved, and under that ere wery in- 
strument this here lantern was passed to ’Tony Veller, vich 
circumstarnce, mum, gives it a wally in my eyes, and makes 
me rekvest, if you vill be so kind, as to take partickler care 
on it.” 

The housekeeper graciously promised to keep the object of 
Mr. Weller’s regard in the safest possible custody, and Mr. 
Pickwick, with a laughing face, took his leave. The body- 
guard followed, side by side : old Mr. Weller buttoned and 
wrapped up from his boots to his chin ; and Sam with his hands 
in his pockets and his hat half off his head, remonstrating with 
his father, as he went, on his extreme loquacity. 

I was not a little surprised, on turning to go up stairs, to 
encounter the barber in the passage at that late hour ; for his 
attendance is usually confined to some half-hour in the morn- 
ing. But Jack Redburn, who finds out (by instinct, I think) 
everything that happens in the house, informed me with great 
glee, that a society in imitation of our own had been that night 
formed in the kitchen, under the title of “ Mr. Weller’s Watch,” 
of which the barber was a member ; and that he could pledge 
himself to find means of making me acquainted with the whole 
of its future proceedings, which I begged him, both on my 
own account and that of my readers, by no means to neglect 
doing.* 

* * # # * 


Old Curiosity Shop is continued here to the end of N». IV. 


MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK. 

v. 


MR. WELLER’S WATCH. 

It seems that the housekeeper and the two Mr. Wellers 
were no sooner left together on the occasion of their first 
becoming acquainted, than the housekeeper called to her 
assistance Mr. Slithers, the barber, who had been lurking in 
the kitchen in expectation of her summons ; and with many 
smiles and much sweetness introduced him as one who would 
assist her in the responsible office of entertaining her dis- 
tinguished visitors. 

“ Indeed,” said she, “without Mr. Slithers I should have 
been placed in quite an awkward situation.” 

“There is no call for any hock’erdness, mum,” said Mr. 
Weller, with the utmost politeness; “no call wotsumever. A 
lady,” added the old gentleman, looking about him with the air 
of one who establishes an incontrovertible position, — “ a lady 
can’t be hock’erd. Natur’ has otherwise purwided.” 

The housekeeper inclined her head and smiled yet more 
sweetly. The barber, who had been fluttering about Mr. Wel- 
ler and Sam in a state of great anxiety to improve their ac- 
quaintance, rubbed his hands and cried, “ Hear, hear ! Very 
true, sir whereupon Sam turned about and steadily regarded 
Him for some seconds in silence. 

“I never knew,” said Sam, fixing his eyes in a ruminative 
manner upon the blushing barber, — “ I never knew but vuri o’ 
your trade, but he wos worth a dozen, and wos indeed dewoted 
to his callin’ ! • 

“ Was he in the easy shaving way, sir,” inquired Mr. Slith- 
ers ; “ or in the cutting and curling line ? ” 


MASTER tfl'MPllRF.Y'S CLOCK. 


569 

“ Both,” replied Sam ; “ easy shavin' was his natur’, and 
cuttin’ and curlin’ was his pride and glory. His whole de- 
light wos in his trade. He spent all his money in bears, 
and run in debt for ’em besides, and there they wos a growl- 
ing avay down in the front cellar all day long, and ineffec- 
tooally gnashing their teeth, vile the grease o’ their relations 
and friends wos being re-tailed in gallipots in the shop above, 
and the first-floor winder wos ornamented vith their heads ; 
not to speak o’ the dreadful aggrawation it must have been to 
'em to see a man alvays a walkin’ up and down the pavement 
outside, vith the portrait of a' bear in his last agonies, and 
underneath in large letters, ‘ Another fine animal wos slaugh- 
tered yesterday at Jinkinson’s ! ’ Hows’ever, there they wos, 
and there Jinkinson wos till he wos took wery ill with some 
inn’ard disorder, lost the use of his legs, and wos confined to 
his bed vere he laid a wery long time, but sich wos his pride i > 
his profession even then, that whenever he wos worse than 
usual the doctor used to go down stairs and say, * Jinkinson' s 
wery low this mornin’ ; we must give the bears a stir ; ’ and rs 
sure as ever they stirred ’em up a bit and made ’em roar. 
Jinkinson opens his eyes if he wos ever so bad, calls out, 
‘ There's the bears ! ’ and rewives agin.” 

“ Astonishing ! ” cried the barber. 

“ Not a bit,” said Sam, “human natur’ neat as imported. 
Vun day the doctor happenin’ to say, *1 shall look in as usu; 1 
to-morrow mornin’,’ Jinkinson catches hold of his hand and 
says, ‘Doctor,’ he says, ‘will you grant me one favor?’ 4 f 
will, Jinkinson,’ says the doctor. ‘Then doctor,’ says Jinki - 
sou, * vill you come, unshaved, and let me shave you?’ ‘1 
will,’ says the doctor. ‘God bless you,’ says Jinkinson. Next 
day the doctor came, and arler he’d been shaved all skilful 
an 1 reg’lar, he says, ‘Jinkinson,’ he says, ‘it’s wery plain tl.i ; 
does you good. Now,’ he says, ‘ I’ve got a coachman as has 
g< ft a beard that it ’ud warm your heart to work on, and though 
the footman,’ he says, ‘ hasn’t got much of a beard, still lie's a 
trying it on vith a pair o’ viskers to that extent that razors is 
( ’hristian charity, if they take it in turns to mind the carriage 
wen it’s a waitin’ below,’ he says, ‘ wot’s to hinder- you from 
operatin’ on both of ’em ev’ry day as well as upon me ? you've 
got six children,’ he says, ‘ wot’s to hinder you from shavin’ all 
their heads and keepin’ ’em shaved ? you’ve got two assistants 
in the shop down stairs, wot’s to hinder you from cuttin’ and 
curlin’ them as often as you like? Do this,’ he says, ‘ and 
you’re a man agin.’ Jinkinson sqyeedged the doctor’s hand 


MASTER MUM FURRY'S CLOCK. 


57 ° 

and begun that wery day ; he kept his tools upon the bed, and 
wenever he felt his-self gettin’ worse, he turned to at vun o’ the 
children who wos a runnin’ about the house vith heads like 
clean Dutch cheeses, and shaved him ag’in. Vun day the law- 
yer come to make his vill ; all the time he wos a takin’ it down, 
Jinkinson was secretly a clippin’ avay at his hair with a large 
pair of scissors. ‘ Wot’s that ’ere snippin’ noise?’ says 
the lawyer every now and then ; ‘it’s like a man havin’ his hair 
cut.’ ‘ It is wery like a man havin’ his hair cut,’ says poor 
Jinkinson, hidin’ the scissors, and lookin’ quite innocent. By 
the time the lawyer found it out, he was wery nearly bald. 
Jinkinson wos kept alive in this vay for a long time, but at last 
vun day he has in all the children, vun arter another, shaves 
each on ’em wery clean, and gives him vun kiss on the crown 
o’ his head ; then he has in the two assistants, and arter cuttin’ 
and curlin’ of ’em in the first style of elegance, says he should 
like to hear the woice o’ the greasiest bear, vich rekvest is im- 
mediately complied with ; then he says that he feels wery happy 
in his mind and vishes to be left alone ; and then he dies, pre- 
viously cuttin’ his own hair and makin’ one flat curl in the 
wery middle of his forehead.” 

This anecdote produced an extraordinary effect, not only 
upon Mr. Shthers, but upon the housekeeper also, who evinced 
so much anxiety to please and be pleased, that Mr. Weller, with 
a manner betokening some alarm, conveyed a whispered in- 
quiry to his son whether he had gone “ too fur.” 

“Wot do you mean by too fur?” demanded Sam. 

“ In that ’ere little compliment respectin’ the want of hock’- 
erdness in ladies, Sammy,” replied his father. 

“ You don’fthink she’s fallen in love with you in consekens 
o’ that, do you ? ” said Sam. 

“ More unlikelier things have come to pass, my boy,” re- 
plied Mr. Weller is a hoarse whisper; “ I’m always afeerd of 
inadwertent captiwation, Sammy. If I know’d how to make 
myself ugly or unpleasant, I’d do it, Samivel, rayther than live 
in this here state of perpetival terror ! ” 

Mr. Weller had, at that time, no further opportunity of 
dwelling upon the apprehensions which beset his mind, for the 
immediate occasion of his fears proceeded to lead the way 
down stairs, apologizing as they went for conducting him into 
the kitchen, which apartment, however, she was induced to 
proffer for his accommodation in preference to her own little 
room, the rather as it afforded greater facilities for smoking, 
and was immediately adjoining the ale-cellar. The prepara- 


57i 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK ; 

tions which were already made sufficiently proved .that these 
were not mere words of course, for on the deal table were a 
sturdy ale jug and glasses, flanked with clean pipes and a plen- 
tiful supply of tobacco for the old gentleman and his son, while 
on a dresser hard by was goodly store of cold meat and other 
eatables. At sight of these arrangements Mr. Weller was at 
first distracted between his love of joviality and his doubts 
whether they were not to be considered as so many evidences 
of captivation having already taken place ; but he soon yielded 
to his natural impulse, and took his seat at the table with a 
very jolly countenance. 

“As to imbibin’ any o’ this here flagrant veed, mum, in the 
presence of a lady, said Mr. Weller, taking up a pipe and lay- 
ing it down again, “ it couldn’t be. Samivel, total abstinence, 
if you please.” 

“ But I like it of all things,” said the housekeeper. 

“ No,” rejoined Mr. Weller, shaking his head, — “ no.” 

“ Upon my word I do,” said the housekeeper. “ Mr. Slith- 
ers knows I do.” 

Mr. Weller coughed, and notwithstanding the barber’s con- 
firmation of the statement, said “ No ” again, but more feebly 
than before. The housekeeper lighted a piece of paper, and 
insisted on applying it to the bowl of the pipe with her own 
fair hands ; Mr. Weller resisted; the housekeeper cried that 
her fingers would be burnt ; Mr. Weller gave way. The pipe 
was ignited, Mr. Weller drew a long puff of smoke, and detect- 
ing himself in the very act of smiling on the housekeeper, put 
a sudden constraint upon his countenance and looked sterr.-ly 
at the candle, with a determination not to captivate, himself, or 
encourage thoughts of captivation in others. From this iron 
frame of mind he was roused by the voice of his son. 

“ I don’t think,” said Sam, who was smoking with great 
composure and enjoyment, “ that if the lady wos agreeable it 
’ud be wery far out o’ the vay for us four to make up a club of 
our own like the governors does up stairs, and let him,” Sam 
pointed with the stem of his pipe towards his parent, “ be the 
president.” 

The housekeeper affably declared that it was the very thing 
she had been thinking of. The barber said the same. Mr. 
Weller said nothing, but he laid down his pipe as if in a fit of 
inspiration, and performed the following manoeuvres. 

Unbuttoning the three lower buttons of his waistcoat, and 
pausing for a moment to enjoy the easy flow of breath conse- 
quent upon this process, he laid violent hands upon his watch- 


572 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


chain and slowly and with extreme difficulty drew from his fob 
an immense double-cased silver watch, which brought the lining 
of the pocket with it, and was not to be disentangled but by 
great exertions and an amazing redness of face. Having fairly 
got it out at last, he detached the outer case and wound it up 
with a key of corresponding magnitude ; then put the case on 
again, and having applied the watch to his ear to ascertain that 
it was still going, gave it some half-dozen hard knocks on the 
table to improve its performance. 

“ That,’’ said Mr. Weller, laying it on the table with its face 
upwards, “ is the title and emblem o’ this here society. Sammy, 
reach them two stools this vay for the wacant cheers. Ladies 
and gen’lmen, Mr. Weller’s Watch is vound up and now a goin’. 
Order ! ” 

By way of enforcing this proclamation, Mr. Weller, using 
the watch after the manner of a president’s hammer, and re- 
marking with great pride that nothing hurt it, and that falls and 
concussions of all kinds materially enhanced the excellence of 
the works and assisted the regulator, knocked the table a great 
many times, and declared the association formally constituted. 

“ And don’t let’s have no grinnin’ at the cheer, Samivel,” 
said Mr. Weller to his son, “or I shall be committin’ you to 
the cellar, and then p’r’aps we may get into wot the ’Merrikins 
call a fix, and the English a qvestion o’ privileges.” 

Having uttered this friendly caution, the president settled 
himself in his chair with great dignity, and requested that Mr. 
Samuel would relate an anecdote. 

“ I’ve told one,” said Sam. 

“ Wery good, sir ; tell another,” returned the chair. 

“We wos a talking jist now, sir,” said Sam, turning to 
Slithers, “ about barbers. Pursuing that ’ere fruitful theme, sir, 
I’ll tell you in a wery few words a romantic little story about 
another barber as p’r’aps you may never have heerd.” 

“ Samivel ! ” said Mr. Weller, again bringing his 'watch and 
the table into smart collision, “ address your obserwations to 
the cheer, sir, and not to priv ate- individuals ! ” 

“ And if I might rise to order,” said the barber, in a soft 
voice, and looking round him with a conciliatory smile as he 
leant over the table, with the knuckles of his left hand resting 
upon it, — “if I might rise to order, l would suggest that ‘bar- 
bers is not exactly the kind of language which is agreeable and 
soothing to our feelings. You, sir, will correct me if I'm wrong, 
but I believe there is such a word in the dictionary as hair 
dressers.” 


VASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


573 


“ Weil, but suppose he wasn’t a hair-dresser,” suggested 

Sam. 

“ Wy then, sir, be parliamentary, and call him vun all the 
more,” returned his father. “ In the same vay as ev’ry gen’l- 
man in another place is a honorable, ev’ry barber in this place 
is a hair-dresser. Ven you read the speeches in the papers, 
• and see as vun gen’lman says of another, 4 the honorable mem- 
ber, if he vill allow me to call him so,’ you vill understand, sir, 
that that means, ; if he vill allow me to keep up that ’ere pleas- 
ant and uniwersal fiction ? ’ ” 

It is a common remark, confirmed by history and experience, 
that great men rise with the circumstances in which they are 
placed. Mr. Weller came out so strong in his capacity of 
chairman, that Sam was for some time prevented from speak- 
ing by a grin of surprise, which held his faculties enchained, 
and at last subsided in a long whistle of a single note. Nay, 
the old gentleman appeared even to have astonished himself, 
and that to no small extent, as was demonstrated by the vast 
amount of chuckling in which he indulged, after the utterance 
of these lucid remarks. 

44 Here’s the story,” said Sam. 44 Vunce upon a time there 
wos a young hair-dresser as opened a wery smart little shop vith 
four wax dummies in the winder, twogen’lmen and two ladies, — 
the gen’lmsn vith blue dots for their beards, wery large viskers, 
ou-dacious heads of hair, uncommon clear eyes, and nostrils of 
amazin’ pinkness, — the ladies vith their heads o’ one side, their 
right forefingers on their lips, and their forms deweloped beauti- 
ful, in vich last respect they had the adwantage over the gen’l- 
men, as wasn’t allowed but wery little shoulder, and terminated 
rayther abrupt, in fancy drapery. He had also a many hair- 
brushes and tooth-brushes bottled up in the winder, neat glass 
cases on the counter, a floor-clothed cuttin’-room up stairs, and 
a weighin’-macheen in the shop, right opposite the door ; but 
the great attraction and ornament wos the dummies, which this 
here young hair-dresser wos constantly a runnin’ out in the road 
to look at, and constantly a runnin’ in agin to touch up and 
polish ; in short, he wos so proud on ’em that ven Sunday come, 
he wos always wretched and mis’rable to think they wos behind 
the shutters, and looked anxiously for Monday on that account. 
Vun o’ these dummies wos a fav’rite vith him beyond the 
others, and ven any of his acquaintances asked him wy he 
didn’t get married,— as the young ladies he know’d, in partick- 
ler, often did,— he used to say, 4 Never ! I never vill enter 
into the bonds of vedlock,’ he says, 4 until I meet vith a young 


574 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


’©oman as realizes my idea o’ that ’ere fairest dummy vith the 
light hair. Then and not till then,’ he says, ‘ I vill approach 
the altar ! ’ All the young ladies he know’d as had got dark 
hair told him this wos wery sinful, and that he wos wurshippin’ 
a idle, but them as wos at all near the same shade as the 
dummy colored up wery much, and wos observed to think him 
a wery nice young man.” 

“ Samivel,” said Mr. Weller, gravely ; “ a member o’ this 
assosiashun bein’ one o’ that ’ere tender sex which is now im- 
medetly referred to, I have to rekvest that you vill make no re- 
flexions.” 

“ I ain’t a makin’ any, am I ? ” inquired Sam. 

“ Order, sir ! ” rejoined Mr. Weller, with severe dignity ; 
then, sinking the chairman in the father, he added in his usual 
tone o’ voice, “ Samivel, drive on ! ” 

Sam interchanged a smile with the housekeeper, and pro- 
ceeded : — 

“ The young hair-dresser hadn’t been in the habit o’ makin’ 
this awowal above six months, ven he en-countered a young 
lady as wos the wery picter o’ the fairest dummy. ‘Now,’ he 
says, ‘ it’s all up. I am a slave ! ’ The young lady wos not 
only the picter o’ the fairest dummy, but she wos wery roman- 
tic, as the young hair-dresser wos, too, and he says, ‘Oh ! ’ he 
says, ‘ here’s a community o’ feelin’, here’s a flow o’ soul ! ’ he 
says, ‘ here’s a interchange o’ sentiment ! ’ The young lady 
didn’t say much, o’ course, but she expressed herself agreeable, 
and shortly arterwarcls vent to see him vith a mutual friend. 
The hair-dresser rushes out to meet her, but d’rectly she sees 
the dummies she changes color and falls a tremblin’ wiolently. 

‘ Look up, my love,’ says the hair-dresser, ‘ behold your imige 
in my winder, but not correcter than in my art ! ’ ‘ My image ! ’ 

she says. ‘Yourn!’ replies the hair-dresser. ‘But whose 
image is that /’ she says, a pinting at vun o’ the gen’lmen. 
‘ No vun’s, my love,’ he says, ‘ it is but a idea.’ ‘ A idea ! ’ she 
cries ; ‘ it is a portrait, I feel it is a portrait, and that ’ere noble 
face must be in the millingtary ! ’ ‘ Wot do I hear ! ’ says he, 

a crumplin’ his curls. ‘William Gibbs,’ she says, quite firm, 
‘ never renoo the subject. I respect you as a friend,’ she says, 
‘ but my affections is set upon that manly brow.’ ‘ This,’ says 
the hair-dresser, ‘ is a reg’lar blight, and in it I perceive the 
hand of Fate. Farevell ! ’ Vith these vords he rushes into the 
shop, breaks the dummy’s nose vith a blow of his curlin’- irons, 
melts him down at the parlor fire, and never smiles aider- 
verds.” 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


575 


“ The young lady, Mr. Weller? ” said the housekeeper. 

“ Why, ma’am,” said Sam, “ finding that Fate had a spite 
agin her, and everybody she come into contact vith, she never 
smiled neither, but read a deal o’ poetry and pined avay, — by 
rayther slow degrees, for she an’t dead yet. It took a deal o’ 
poetry to kill the hair-dresser, and some people say arter all. 
that it was more the gin and water as caused him to be run 
over, p’r’aps it wos a little o’ both, and came o’ mixing the 
two.” 

The barber declared that Mr. Weller had related one of the 
most interesting stories that had ever come within his knowl- 
edge, in which opinion the housekeeper entirely concurred. 

“ Are you a married man, sir? ” inquired Sam. 

The barber replied that he had not that honor. 

“ I s’pose you mean to be? ” said Sam. 

“ Well,” replied the barber, rubbing his hands smirkingly, 
“ I don’t know, I don’t think it’s very likely.” 

“ That’s a bad sign,” said Sam ; “if you’d said you meant 
to be vun o’ these days, I should ha’ looked upon you as bein’ 
safe. You’re in a wery precarious state.” 

“ I am not conscious of any danger, at all events,” returned 
the barber. 

“ No more wos I, sir,” said the elder Mr. Weller, interpos- 
ing ; “ those vere my symptoms, exactly. I’ve been took that 
vayjwice. Keep your vether eye open, my friend, or you’re 
gone.” 

There was something so very solemn about this admonition, 
both in its matter and manner, and also in the way in which 
Mr. Weller still kept his eye fixed upon the unsuspecting victim, 
that nobody cared to speak for some little time, and might not 
have cared to do so for some time longer, if the housekeeper 
had not happened to sigh, which called off the old gentleman’s 
attention and gave rise to a gallant inquiry whether “ there wos 
anything wery piercin’ in that ’ere little heart.” 

“ Dear me, Mr. Weller ! ” said the housekeeper, laughing. 

“No, but is there anythin’ as agitates it? ” pursued the old 
gentleman. “ Has it always been obderrate, always opposed 
to the happiness o’ human creeturs ? Eh ? Has it ? ” 

At this critical juncture for her blushes and confusion, the 
housekeeper discovered that more ale was wanted, and hastily 
withdrew into the cellar to draw the same, followed by the 
barber, who insisted on carrying the candle. Having looked 
after her with a very complacent expression of the face, and 
after him with some disdain, Mr. Weller caused his glance to 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


S7 6 

travel slowly round the kitchen until at length it rested on his 
son. 

“ Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, “ I mistrust that barber.” 

“ Wot for ? ” returned Sam, “ wot 1 , lie got to do with you ? 
You’re a nice man, you are, arter pretendin’ all kinds o’ terror, 
to go to paying compliments and talkin’ about hearts and 
piercers.” 

The imputation of gallantry appeared to afford Mr. Weller 
the utmost delight, for he replied in a voice choked by sup- 
pressed laughter, and with the tears in his eyes, — 

“ Wos I a talkin’ about hearts and piercers, — wos I though, 
Sammy, eh ? ” 

“ Wos you ? of course you wos.” 

“ She don’t know no better, Sammy ; there an’t no harm in 
it, — no danger, Sammy ; she’s only a punster. She seemed 
pleased, though, didn’t she ? O’ course, she wos pleased, it’s 
nat’ral she should be, wery nat’ral.” 

“ He’s wain of it ! ” exclaimed Sam, joining in his father’s 
mirth. “ He’s actually wain ! ” 

“ Hush ! ” replied Mr. Weller, composing his features, 
“ they’re a cornin’ back, — the little heart’s a cornin’ back. But 
mark these wurds o’ mine once more, and remember ’em ven 
your father says he said ’em. Samivel, I mistrust that ’ere 
deceitful barber.”* 

# # * * 


* Old Curiosity Shop is continued to the end of the number. 


MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK. 

, VI. 


MASTER HUMPHREY FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN 
THE CHIMNEY-CORNER. 

Two or three evenings after the institution of Mr. Weller’s 
Watch, I thought I heard, as I walked in the garden, the voice 
of Mr. Weller himself at no great distance ; and stopping once 
or twice to listen more attentively, I found that the sounds pro- 
ceeded from my housekeeper’s little sitting-room which is at 
the back of the house. I took no further notice of the cir- 
cumstance at that time, but it formed the subject of a conver- 
sation between me and my friend Jack. Redburn next morning, 
when I found I had not been deceived in my impression. Jack 
furnished me with the following particulars, and as he appeared 
to take extraordinary pleasure in relating them, I have begged 
him in future to jot down any such domestic scenes or occur- 
rences that may please his humor, in order that they may be 
told in his own w r ay. I must confess that, as Mr. Pickwick 
and he are constantly together, I have been influenced in mak- 
ing this request, by a secret desire to know: something of their 
proceedings. 

On the evening in question, the housekeeper’s room was 
arranged with particular care, and the housekeeper herself was 
very smartly dressed. The preparations, however, were not 
confined to mere showy demonstrations, as tea w'as prepared 
for three persons, with a small display of preserves and jams 
and sweet cakes, which heralded some uncommon occasion. 
Miss Benton (my housekeeper bears that name) was in a state 
of great expectation, too, frequently going to the front door 
and looking anxiously down the lane, and more than once 

r.7 CS77) 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


57 8 

observing to the servant girl that she expected company, and 
hoped no accident had happened to delay them. 

A modest ring at the bell at length allayed her fears, and 
Miss Benton, hurrying into her own room and shutting herself 
up in order that she might preserve that appearance of being 
taken by surprise which is so essential to the polite reception 
of visitors, awaited their coming with a smiling countenance. 

“Good ev’nin’, mum,” said the older Mr. Weller, looking 
in at the door after a prefatory tap. “ I’m afeered we’ve come 
in rayther arter the time, mum, but the young colt being full o’ 
wice, has been a boltin’ and shyin’ and gettin’ his leg over the 
traces to sich a extent that if he ain’t wery soon broke in, he’ll 
wex me into a broken heart, and then he’ll never be brought 
out no more except to learn his letters from the writin’ on his 
grandfather’s tombstone.” 

With these pathetic words, which were addressed to some- 
thing outside the door about two feet six from the ground, Mr. 
Weller introduced a very small boy firmly set upon a couple of 
very sturdy legs, who looked as if nothing could ever knock 
him down. Besides having a very round face strongly resem- 
bling Mr. Weller’s, and a stout little body of exactly his build, 
this young gentleman, standing with his little legs very wide 
apart as if the top-boots were familiar to them, actually winked 
upon the housekeeper with his infant eye, in imitation of his 
grandfather. 

“ There’s a naughty boy, mum,” said Mr. Weller, bursting 
with delight ; “ there’s a immoral Tony. Wos there ever a 
little chap o’ four year and eight months old as vinked his eye 
at a strange lady afore ? ” 

As little affected by this observation as by the former appeal 
to his feelings, Master Weller elevated in the air a small model 
of a coach whip which he carried in his hand, and addressing 
the housekeeper with a shrill “ya — hip!” inquired if she was 
“ going down the road ; ” at which happy adaptation of a lesson 
he had been taught from infancy, Mr. Weller could restrain his 
feelings no longer, but gave him twopence on the spot. 

“ It’s in wain to deny it, mum,” said Mr. Weller, “ this here 
is a boy arter his grandfather’s own heart, and beats out all the 
boys as ever wos or will be. Though at the same time, mum,” 
added Mr. Weller, trying to look gfavely down upon his favorite, 
“ it was wery wrong on him to want to — over all the posts as 
we come along, and wery cruel on him to force poor grandfather 
to lift him cross-legged over every vun of ’em. He wouldn’t pass 
vun single blessed post, mum, and at the top o’ the lane there’s 
seven-and-forty on ’em all in a row, and wery close together.” 


Here Mr. Weller, whose feelings were in a perpetual conflict 
between pride in his grandson’s achievements, and a sense' of 
his own responsibility and the importance of impressing him 
with moral truths, burst into a fit of laughter, ancl suddenly 
checking himself, remarked in a severe tone that little boys as 
made their grandfathers put ’em over posts never went to 
heaven at any price. 

By this time the housekeeper had made tea, and little Tony, 
placed on a chair beside her, with his eyes nearly on a level 
with the top of the table, was provided with various delicacies 
which yielded him extreme contentment. The housekeeper 
(who seemed rather afraid of the child, notwithstanding her 
caresses) then patted him on the head and declared that he 
was the finest boy she had ever seen. 

“ Wy, mum,” said Mr. Weller, “I don’t think you’ll see a 
many sich, and that’s the truth. But if my son Samivel would 
give me my vay, mum, and only dispense vith his — might I 
wenter to say the vurd ? ” 

“ What word, Mr. Weller? ” said the housekeeper, blushing 
slightly. 

“ Petticuts, mum,” returned that gentleman, laying his hand 
upon the garments of his grandson. “ if my son Samivel, 
mum, vould only dis-pense vith these here, you’d see such a 
alteration in his appearance, as the imagination can’t' depicter.” 

“ But what would you have the child wear instead, Mr. 
Weller ? ”, said the housekeeper. 

“ I’ve offered my son Samivel, agen and agen,” returned the 
old gentleman, “ to purwide him at my own cost vith a suit o’ 
clothes as ’ud be the makin’ on him, and form his mind in infancy 
for those pursuits as I hope the family o’ the Veliers vill alvays 
dewote themselves to. Tony, my boy, tell the lady wot them 
clothes are, as grandfather says, father ought to let you vear.” 

“ A little white hat and a little sprig weskut and little knee 
cords and little top-boots and a little green coat with little 
bright buttons and a little welwet collar,” replied Tony, with 
great readiness and no stops. 

“That’s the cos-toom, mum,” said Mr. Weller, looking 
proudly at the housekeeper. “ Once make sich a model on him 
as that, and you’d say he was a angel ! ” 

Perhaps the housekeeper thought that in such a guise young 
Tony would look more like the angel at Islington than anything 
else of that name, or perhaps she was disconcerted to find her 
previously conceived ideas disturbed, as angels are not com- 
monly represented in top-boots and sprig waistcoats. Sir® 
coughed, doubtfully, but said nothing. 

25 


5 S° 


MASTER HU MEN RE > 


CLOCK. 


“ How many brothers and sisters have you, my dear ? ” she 
asked, alter a short silence. 

“One brother and no sister at all,” replied Tony. “Sam 
his name is, and so’s my father’s. Do you know my father ? ” 

“ O yes, I know him,” said the housekeeper, graciously. 

“ Is my father fond of you ? ” pursued Tony. 

“ 1 hope so,” rejoined the smiling housekeeper. 

Tony considered a moment, and then said, “Is my grand- 
father fond of you ? ” 

This would seem a very easy question to answer, but instead 
of replying to it, the housekeeper smiled in great confusion, and 
saia that really children did ask such extraordinary questions 
that it was the most difficult thing in the world to talk to them. 
Mr. Weller took upon himself to reply that he was very fond 
of ihe lady ; but the housekeeper entreating that he would not 
put such things into the child’s head, Mr. Weller shook his own 
while she looked another way, and seemed to be troubled with 
a misgiving that captivation was in progress. It was, perhaps, 
on this account that he changed the subject precipitately. 

“It’s wery wrong in little boys to make game o’ their grand- 
fathers, an’t it, mum ? ” said Mr. Weller, shaking his head wag- 
gishly, until Tony looked at him, when he counterfeited the 
deepest dejection and sorrow. 

“ O, very sad ! ” assented the housekeeper. “ But I hope no 
little boys do that ? ” 

“There is vun young Turk, mum,” said Mr. Waller, “as 
havin’ seen his grandfather a little overcome vith drink on the 
occasion of a friend’s birthday, goes a reelin’ and staggerin’ 
about the house, and makin’ believe that he’s the old 
gen’l’m’n.” 

“ O, quite shocking ! ” cried the housekeeper. 

“Yes, mum,” said Mr. W r eller, “ and prevously to so doin’, 
this here young traitor that I’m a speakin’ of, pinches his little 
nose to make it red, and then he gives a hiccup and says, ‘ I’m 
all right,’ he says, ‘give us another song I’ Ha, ha! ‘Give 
us another song,’ he says. Ha, ha, ha ! ” 

In his excessive delight, Mr. Weller was quite unmindful of 
his moral responsibility, until little Tony kicked up his legs, 
and laughing immoderately, cried, “That was me, that was 
whereupon the grandfather, by a great effort, became extremely 
solemn. 

“ No, Tony, not you,” said Mr. Weller. “ I hope it warn’t 
you, Tony. It must ha’ been that ’ere naughty little chap as 
comes sometimes out o’ the empty watch-box round the corner, 
— that same little chap as wos found standing on the table 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5Si 


afore the looking-glass, pretending to shave himself vith a oyster- 
knife.” 

“ He didn't hurt himself, I hope ? ” observed the house- 
keeper. 

“Not lie, mum,” said Mr. Weller, proudly ; “ bless your 
heart, you might trust that ’ere boy vith a steam-engine a’most, 
lie’s such a knowin’ young — ” But suddenly recollecting him- 
self and observing that Tony perfectly understood and appre- 
ciated the compliment, the old gentleman groaned and observed 
that “it wos all wery shockin’ — wery.” 

“O, 'he’s a bad ’un,” said Mr. Weller, “is that ’ere watch- 
box boy, makin’ such a noise and litter in the back yard, he does, 
waterin’ wooden horses and feedin’ of ’em vith grass, and per- 
petually spillin’ his little brother out of a veelbarrow and 
frightenin’ his mother out of her wits, at the wery moment wen 
she’s expectin’ to increase his stock of happiness vith another 
plavfeller, — O, he’s a bad ’urn! He’s even gone so far as to put 
on a pair o’ paper spectacles as he got his father to make for 
him, and walk up and down the garden vith his hands 
behind him in imitation of Mr. Pickwick, — but Tony don’t do 
sich things, O no ! ” 

“ O no ! ” echoed Tony. 

“ He knows better, he does,” said Mr. Weller. “ He knows 
that if he was to come sich games as these nobody wouldn’t 
love him, and that his grandfather in partickler couldn’t 
abear the sight on him ; for vhich reasons Tony’s always 
good.” 

“Always good,” echoed Tony ; and his grandfather imme- 
diately took him on his knee and kissed him, at the same time, 
with many nods and winks, slyly pointing at the child’s head 
with his thumb, in order that the housekeeper, otherwise de- 
ceived by the admirable manner in which he (Mr. Weller) had 
sustained his character, might not suppose that any other young 
gentleman was referred to, and might clearly understand that 
the boy of the watch-box was but an imaginary creation, and a 
fetch of Tony himself, invented for his improvement and refor- 
mation. 

Not confiding himself to a mere verbal description of his 
grandson’s abilities, Mr. Weller, when tea was finished, incited 
him by various gifts of pence and halfpence to smoke imaginary 
pipes, drink visionary beer from real pots, imitate his grand- 
father without reserve, and in particular to go through the 
drunken scene, which threw the old gentleman into ecstasies 
and filled the housekeeper with wonder. Nor was Mr. Weller’s 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


582 

pride satisfied with even this display, for when he took his leave 
he carried the child, like some rare and astonishing curiosity, 
first to the barber’s house and afterwards to the tobacconist’s, 
at each of which places he repeated his performances with the 
utmost effect to applauding and delighted audiences. It was 
half past nine o’clock when Mr. Weller was last seen carrying 
him home upon his shoulder, and it has been whispered 
abroad that at that time the infant Tony was rather intoxi- 
cated.* 


[Master Humphrey is revived thus at the dose of The Old Curiosity Shop, merely to in- 
troduce Barnaby Rudge.] 

I was musing the other evening upon the characters and in- 
cidents with which I had been so long engaged ; wondering 
how I could ever have looked forward with pleasure to the com- 
pletion of my tale, and reproaching myself for having done so, 
as if it were a kind of cruelty to those companions of my soli- 
tude whom I had now dismissed, and could never again recall ; 
when my clock struck ten. Punctual to the hour, my friends 
appeared. 

On our last night of meeting, we had finished the story 
which the reader has just concluded. Our conversation took 
the same current as the meditations which the entrance of my 
friends had interrupted, and The Old Curiosity Shop was the 
staple of our discourse. 

I may confide to the reader now, that in connection with 
this little history I had something upon my mind ; something 
to communicate which I had all along with difficulty repressed ; 
something I had deemed it, during the progress of the story, 
necessary to its interest to disguise, and which, now that it was 
over, I wished, and was yet reluctant to disclose. 

To conceal anything from those to whom I am attached, is 
not in my nature. I can never close my lips where I have 
opened my heart. This temper, and the consciousness of hav- 
ing done some violence to it in my narrative, laid me under a 
restraint which I should have had great difficulty in overcoming, 
but for a timely remark from Mr. Miles, who as I hinted in a 
former paper, is a gentleman of business habits, and of great 
exactness and propriety in all his transactions. 

“ I could have wished,” my friend objected, “ that we had 


Old Curiosity Shop is continued from here to the end without interruption. 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5 8 J 

been made acquainted with the single gentleman’s name. I 
don’t like his withholding his name. It made me look upon 
him at first with suspicion, and caused me to doubt his moral 
character, I assure you. I am fully satisfied by this time of his 
being a worthy creature, but in this respect he certainly would 
not appear to have acted at all like a man of business.” 

“ My friends,” said I, drawing to the table, at which they 
were by this time seated in their usual chairs, “ do you remem- 
ber that this story bore another title besides that one we have so 
often heard of late ? ” 

Mr. Miles had his pocket-book out in an instant, and re- 
ferring to an entry therein, rejoined, “ Certainly. Personal Ad- 
ventures of Master Humphrey. Here it is. I made a note of 
it at the time.” 

I was about to resume what I had to tell them, when the 
same Mr. Miles again interrupted me, observing that the nar- 
rative originated in a personal adventure of my own, and that 
was no doubt the reason for its being thus designated. 

This led me to the point at once. 

“You will one and all forgive me,” I returned, “if r for the 
greater convenience of the story, and for its better introduction, 
that adventure was fictitious. I had my share, indeed, — no 
light or trivial one, — in the pages we have read, but it was not 
the share I feigned to have at first. The younger brother, the 
single gentleman, the nameless actor in this little drama, stands 
before you now.” 

It was easy to see they had not expected this disclosure. 

“Yes,” I pursued. “I can look back upon my part in it 
with a calm, half-smiling pity for myself as for some other man. 
But I am he, indeed ; and now the chief sorrows of my life are 
yours.” 

I need not say what true gratification I derived from the 
sympathy and kindness with which this acknowledgment was 
received ; nor how often it had risen to my lips before ; nor 
how difficult I had found it — how impossible, when I came to 
those passages which touched me most, and most nearly con- 
cerned me — to sustain the character I had assumed. It is 
enough to say that I replaced in the clock-case the record of 
so many trials, — sorrowfully, it is true, but with a softened 
sorrow which was almost pleasure ; and felt that in living 
through the past again, and communicating to others the 
lesson it had helped to teach me, I had been a happier man. 

We lingered so long over the leaves from which I had read, 
that as I consigned them to their former resting-place, the hand 


584 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 

of my trusty clock pointed to twelve, and there came towards 
us upon the wind the voice of the deep and distant bell of St. 
Paul’s as it struck the hour of midnight. 

“ This,” said I, returning with a manuscript I had taken, at 
the moment, from the same repository, “ to be opened to such 
music, should be a tale where London’s face by night is darkly 
seen, and where some deed of such a time as this is dimly 
shadowed out. Which of us here has seen the working of that 
great machine whose voice has just now ceased ? ” 

Mr. Pickwick had, of course, and so had Mr. Miles. Jack 
and my deaf friend were in the minority. 

I had seen it but a few days before, and could not help tell- 
ing them of the fancy I had had about it. 

I paid my fee of twopence upon entering, to one of the 
money-changers who sit within the Temple ; and falling, after 
a few turns up and down, into the quiet train of thought which 
such a place awakens, paced the echoing stones like some old 
monk whose present world lay all within its walls. As I looked 
afar up into the lofty dome, I could not help wondering what 
were Iris reflections whose genius reared that mighty pile, 
when, the last small wedge of timber fixed, the last nail driven 
into its home for many centuries, the clang of hammers, and 
the hum of busy voices gone, and the Great Silence whole years 
of noise had helped to make, reigning undisturbed around, he 
mused as I did now, upon his work, and lost himself amid its 
vast extent. I could not quite determine whether the contem- 
plation of it would impress him with a sense of greatness or of 
insignificance ; but when I remembered how long a time it had* 
taken to erect, in how short a space it might be traversed even 
to its remotest parts, for how brief a term he, or any of those 
who cared to bear his name, would live to see it or know of its 
existence, I imagined him far more melancholy than proud, 
and looking with regret upon his labor done. With these 
thoughts in my mind, I began to ascend, almost unconsciously, 
the flight of steps leading to the several wonders of the build- 
ing, and found myself before a barrier where another money- 
taker sat, who demanded which among them I would choose to 
see. There were the stone-gallery, he said, and the whispering 
gallery, the geometrical staircase, the room of models, the 
clock, — the clock being quite in my way, I stopped him there, 
and chose that sight from all the rest. 

I groped my way into the Turret which it occupies, and saw 
before me, in a kind of loft, what seemed to be a great, old 
oaken press with folding doors. These being thrown back by 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK . -gtf 

the attendant (who was sleeping when I came upon him, and 
looked a drowsy fellow, as though his close companionship 
with Time had made him quite indifferent to it), disclosed a 
complicated crowd of wheels and chains in iron and brass, — 
great, sturdy, rattling engines, — suggestive of breaking a finger 
put in here or there, and grinding the bone to powder, — and 
these were the Clock 1 Its very pulse, if I may use the word, 
was like no other clock. It did not mark the flight of every 
moment with a gentle second stroke, as though it would check 
old Time, and have him stay his pace in pity, but measured it 
with one sledge-hammer beat, as if its business were to crush 
the seconds as they came trooping on, and remorselessly to 
clear a path before the Day of Judgment. 

I sat down opposite to it, and hearing its regular and never- 
changing voice, that one deep constant note, uppermost 
amongst all the noise and clatter in the streets below, — mark- 
ing that, let that tumult rise or fall, go on or stop — let it be 
night or noon, to-morrow or to-day, this year or next, — it still 
performed its functions with the same dull constancy, and 
regulated the progress of the life around, the fancy came upon 
me that this was London’s Heart, and that when it should 
cease to beat, the City would be no more. 

It is night. Calm and unmoved amidst the scenes that dark- 
ness favors, the great heart of London throbs in its Giant 
breast. Wealth and beggary, vice and virtue, guilt and inno- 
cence, repletion and the direst hunger, all treading on each 
other and crowding together, are gathered round it. Draw but 
a little circle above the clustering house-tops, and you shall 
have within its space everything, with its opposite extreme 
and contradiction, close beside. Where yonder feeble light is 
shining, a man is but this moment dead. The taper at a few 
yards’ distance is seen by eyes that have this instant opened 
on the world. There are two houses separated by but an inch 
or two of wall. In one, there are quiet minds at rest ; in the 
other, a waking conscience that one might think would trouble 
the very air. In that close corner where the roofs shrink down 
and cower together as if to hide their secrets from the hand- 
some street hard by, there are such dark crimes, such miseries 
and horrors, as could be hardly told in whispers. In the 
handsome street, there are folks asleep who have dwelt there 
all their lives, and have no more knowledge of these things 
than if they had never been, or were transacted at the remotest 
limits of the world, — who, if they were hinted at,, would shake 
their heads, look wise, and frown, and say they were impossible 


MAS TEA' HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


586 

and out of Nature, — as if all great towns were not. Does not 
this Heart of London, that nothing moves, nor stops, nor 
quickens, — that goes on the same let what will be done, — does 
it not express the city’s character well ! 

The day begins to break, and soon there is the hum and 
noise of life. Those who have spent the night on doorsteps 
and cold stones crawl off to beg ; they who have slept in beds 
come forth to their occupation, too, and business is astir. The 
fog of sleep rolls slowly off, and London shines awake. The 
streets are filled with carriages, and people gayly clad. The 
jails are full, too, to the throat, nor have the workhouses or 
hospitals much room to spare. The courts of law are crowded. 
Taverns have their regular frequenters by this time, and every 
mart of traffic has its throng. Each of these places is a world, 
and has its own inhabitants ; each is distinct from, and almost 
unconscious of the existence of any other. There are some 
few people well to do, who remember to have heard it said, that 
numbers of men and women — thousands, they think it was — 
get up in London every day, unknowing where to lay their 
heads at night ; and that there are quarters of the town where 
misery and famine always are. They don’t believe it quite, — 
there may be some truth in it, but it is exaggerated, of course. 
So, each of these thousand worlds goes on, intent upon itself, 
until night comes again, — first with its lights and pleasures, and 
its cheerful streets ; then with its guilt and darkness. 

Heart of London, there is a moral in thy every stroke ! as 
I look on at thy indomitable working, which neither death, nor 
press of life, nor grief, nor gladness out of doors will influence 
one jot, I seem to hear a voice within thee which sinks 
into my heart, bidding me, as I elbow my way among the crowd, 
have some thought for the meanest wretch that passes, and, j 
being a man, to turn away with scorn and pride from none that 
bear the human shape. 

I am by no means sure that I might not have been tempted 
to enlarge upon the subject, had not the papers that lay before 
me on the table been a silent reproach for even this digression. 

I took them up again when I had got thus far, and seriously 
prepared to read. 

The handwriting was strange to me, for the manuscript had 
been fairly copied. As it is against our rules, in such a case, 
to inquire into the authorship until the reading is concluded, I 
could only glance at the different faces round me, in search of 
some expression which should betray the writer. Whoever he 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 587 

might be, he was prepared for this, and gave no sign for my 
enlightenment. 

I had the papers in my hand, when my deaf friend inter- 
posed with a suggestion. 

“It has occurred to me,” he said, “bearing in mind your 
sequel to the talewve have finished, that if such- of us as have 
anything to relate of our own lives could interweave it with our 
contribution to the Clock, it would be well to do so. This 
need be no restraint upon us, either as to time, or place, or in- 
cident, since any real passage ©f this kind may be surrounded 
by fictitious circumstances, and represented by fictitious char- 
acters. What if we make this an article of agreement among 
ourselves ? ” 

The proposition was cordially received, but the difficulty 
appeared to be that here was a long story written before we 
had thought of it. 

“Unless,” said I, “it should have happened that the writer 
of this tale — which is not impossible, for men are apt to do so 
when they write — has actually mingled with it something of his 
own endurance and experience. 

Nobody spoke, but I thought I detected in one quarter that 
this was really the case. 

“ If I have no assurance to the contrary,” I added, there- 
fore, “ I shall take it for granted that he has done so, and that 
even these papers come within our new agreement. Everybody 
being mute, we hold that understanding, if you please.” 

And there I was about to begin again, when Jack informed 
us softly, that during the progress of our last narrative, Mr. 
Weller’s Watch had adjourned its sittings from the kitchen, 
and regularly met outside our door, where he had no doubt 
that august body would be found at the present moment. As 
this was for the convenience of listening to our stories, he sub- 
mitted that they might be suffered to come in, and hear them 
more pleasantly. 

To this we one and all yielded a ready assent, and the party 
being discovered, as Jack had supposed, and invited to walk 
in, entered (though not withont great confusion at having been 
detected), and were accommodated with chairs at a little dis- 
tance. 

Then, the lamp being trimmed, the fire well stirred and 
burning brightly, the hearth clean swept, the curtains closely 
drawn, the clock wound up, we entered on our new story, — • 
Barnady Rudge. 

* * * * • * 


5 88 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


[This is, as indicated, the last appearance of Master Humphrey’s Clock. It forms the 
tonclusion of Barnaby Rudge.] 

It is again midnight. My fire burns cheerfully ; the room 
is filled with my old friend’s sobered voice ; and I am left to 
muse upon the story we have just now finished. 

It makes me smile, at such a time as this, to think if there 
were any one to see me sitting in my easy chair, my gray head 
hanging down, my eyes bent thoughtfully upon the glowing 
embers, and my crutch — emblem of my helplessness — lying 
upon the hearth at my feet, how solitary I should seem. Yet 
though I am the sole tenant of this chimney-corner, though I 
am childless and old, I have no sense of loneliness at this hour ; 
but am the centre of a silent group whose company I love. 

Thus, even age and weakness have their consolations. If I 
were a younger man, if I were more active, more strongly bound 
and tied to life, these visionary friends would shun me, or I 
should desire - to fly from them. Being what I am, I can court 
their society, and delight in it ; and pass whole hours in pictur- 
ing to myself the shadows that perchance flock every night into 
this chamber, and in imagining with pleasure what kind of in- 
terest they have in the frail, feeble mortal, who is its sole in- 
habitant. 

All the friends I have ever lost I find again among these 
visitors. I love to fancy their spirits hovering about me, feel- 
ing still some earthly kindness for their old companion, and 
watching his decay. “ He is weaker, he declines apace, he 
draws nearer and nearer to us, and will soon be conscious of 
our existence.” What is there to alarm me in this ? It is en- 
couragement and hope. 

These thoughts have never crowded on me half so fast as 
they have done to-night, Faces I had long forgotten have be- 
come familiar to me once again ; traits I had endeavored to 
recall for years, have come before me in an instant ; nothing is 
changed but me : and even I can be my former self at will. 

Raising my eyes but now to the face of my old clock, I re- 
member, quite involuntarily, the veneration, not unmixed with a 
sort of childish awe, with which I used to sit and watch it as it 
ticked unheeded in a dark staircase corner. I recollect looking 
more grave and steady when I met its dusty face, as if, having 
that strange kind of life within it, and being free from all excess 
• of vulgar appetite, and warning all- the house by night and day, 
it were a sage. How often have I listened to it as it told the 
beads of time, and wondered a; its constancy! How often 
watched it slowly pointing round the dial, and, while I panted 


MAS TEX HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


5 8 9 

for the eagerly expected hour to come, admired, despite myself, 
its steadiness of purpose and lofty freedom from all human 
strife, impatience and desire ! 

I thought it cruel once. It was very hard of heart, to my 
mind, I remember. It was an old servant, even then ; and I 
felt as though it ought to show some sorrow ; as though it 
wanted sympathy with us in our distress, and were a dull, 
heartless, mercenary creature. Ah ! how soon I learnt to know 
that in its ceaseless going on, and in its being checked or stayed 
by nothing, lay its greatest kindness, and the only balm for 
grief and wounded peace of mind ! 

To-night, to-night, when this tranquillity and calm are on 
my spirits, and memory presents so many shifting scenes before 
me, I take my quiet stand at will by many a fire that has been 
long extinguished, and mingle with the cheerful group that 
cluster round it. If I could be sorrowful in such a mood, I 
should grow sad to think- what a poor blot I was upon their 
youth and beauty once, and now how few remain to put me to 
the blush ; I should grow sad to think that such among them 
as I sometimes meet with in my daily walks are scarcely less 
infirm than I ; that time has brought us to a level ; and that 
all distinctions fade and vanish as we take our trembling steps 
towards the grave. 

But memory was given us for better purposes than this, and 
mine is not a torment, but a source of pleasure. To muse upon 
the gayety and youth I have known, suggest to me glad scenes 
of harmless mirth that may be passing now. From contempla- 
ting them apart, I soon become an actor in these little dramas ; 
and humoring my fancy, lose myself among the beings it in- 
vokes. 

When my fire is bright and high, and a warm blush mantles 
in the walls and ceiling of this ancient room ; when my clock 
makes cheerful music, like one of those chirping insects who 
delight in the warm hearth, and are sometimes, by a good 
superstition, looked upon as the harbingers of fortune and 
plenty to that household in whose mercies they put their humble 
trust ; when everything is in a ruddy, genial glow, and there are 
voices in the crackling flame, and smiles in its flashing light ; 
other smiles and other voices congregate around me, invading, 
with their pleasant harmony, the silence of the time. 

For then a knot of youthful creatures gather round my fire- 
side, and the room re-echoes to their merry voices. Mv soli- 
tary chair no longer holds its ample place before the fire, but it 
is wheeled into a smaller corner, to leave more room for the 


59 ° 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


broad circle formed about the cheerful hearth, i have sons, 
and daughters, and grandchildren ; and we are assembled on 
some occasion of rejoicing common to us all. It is a birthday, 
perhaps, or perhaps it may be Christmas-time ; but be it what 
it may, there is rare holiday among us ; we are full of glee. 

In the chimney-corner, opposite myself, sits one who has 
grown old beside me. She is changed, of course ; much 
changed ; and yet I recognize the girl even in -that gray hair 
and wrinkled brow. Glancing from the laughingchild who half 
hides in her ample skirts, and half peeps out, — and from her to 
the little matron of twelve years old, who sits so womanly and 
so demure at no great distance from me, — and from her again, 
to a fair girl in the full bloom of early womanhood, the centre 
of the group, who has glanced more than once towards the 
opening door, and by whom the children, whispering and tittering 
among themselves, will leave a vacant chair, although she bids 
them not, — I see her image thrice repeated, and feel how long 
it is before one form and set of features wholly pass away, if 
ever, from among the living. While I am dwelling upon this, 
and tracing out the gradual change from infancy to youth, from 
youth to perfect growth, from that to age ; and thinking, with 
an old man’s pride, that- she is comely yet; I feel a* 'slight, 
thin hand upon my arm, and, looking down, see seated at my 
feet a crippled boy, — a gentle, patient child, — whose aspect I 
know well. He rests upon a little crutch, — I know it too, — and 
leaning on it as he climbs my footstool, whispers in my ear, “ I 
am hardly one of these, dear grandfather, although I love them 
dearly. They are very kind to me, but you will be kinder still, 
I know.” 

I have my hand upon his neck, and stoop to kiss him, 
when my clock strikes, my chair is in its old spot, and I am 
alone. 

What if I be ? What if this fireside be tenantless, save for 
the presence of one weak old man ! From my house-top I can 
look upon a hundred homes, in every one of which these social 
companions are matters of reality. In my daily walks I pass a 
thousand men whose cares are all forgotten, whose labors are 
made light, whose dull routine of work from day to day is 
cheered and brightened by their glimpses of domestic joy at 
home. Amid the struggles of this struggling town what cheerful 
sacrifices are made ; what toil endured with readiness ; what 
patience shown and fortitude displayed for the mere sake of 
home and its affections ! Let me thank Heaven that I can peo- 
ple my fireside with shadows such as these ; with shadows of 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


59 1 

bright objects that exist in crowds about me ; and let me say, 
“ I am alone no more.’' 

I never was less so — I write it with a grateful heart — than 
I am to-night. Recollections of the past and visions of the 
present come to bear me company ; the meanest man to whom 
I have ever given alms appears to add his mite of peace and 
comfort to my stock ; ancl whenever the fire within me shall 
grow cold, to light my path upon this earth no more, I pray 
that it may be at such an hour as this, and when I love the 
world as well as I do now. 

THE DEAF GENTLEMAN FROM HIS OWN APARTMENT. 

Our dear friend laid down his pen at the end of the fore- 
going paragraph, to take it up no more. I little thought ever 
to employ mine upon so sorrowful a task as that which he has 
left me, and to which I now devote it. 

As he did not appear among us at his usual hour next morn- 
ing, we knocked gently at his door. No answer being given, 
it was softly opened ; and then, to our surprise, we saw him 
seated before the ashes of his fire, with a little table I was ac- 
customed to set at his elbow when I left him for the night, at 
a short distance from him, as though he had pushed it away 
with the idea of rising and retiring to his bed. His crutch and 
footstool lay at his feet as usual, and he was dressed in his 
chamber-gown, which he had put on before I left him. He was 
reclining in his chair, in his accustomed posture, with his face 
towards the fire, and seemed absorbed in meditation, — indeed, 
at first, we almost hoped he was. 

Going up to him, we found him dead. I have often, very 
often, seen him sleeping, and always peacefully, but I never 
saw him look so calm and tranquil. His face wore a serene, 
benign expression, which had impressed me very strongly when 
we last shook hands ; not that he had ever any other look, 
God knows ; but there was something in this so very spiritual, 
so strangely and indefinably allied to youth, although his head 
was gray and venerable, that it was new even in him. It came 
upon me all at once when on some slight pretence he called me 
back upon the previous night to take me by the hand again, 
and once more say, “ God bless you.” 

A bell-rope hung within his reach, but he had not moved 
towards it, nor had he stirred, we all agreed, except, as I have 
said, to push away his table, which he could have done, and 
no doubt did, with a very slight motion of his hand. He had 


59 2 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


relapsed for a moment. into his late train of meditation, and, 
with a thoughtful smile upon his face, had died. 

I had long known it to be his wish that whenever this event 
should come to pass we might be all assembled in the house. 
I therefore lost no time in sending for Mr. Pickwick and for 
Mr. Miles, both of whom arrived before the messenger’s re- 
turn. 

It is not my purpose to dilate upon the sorrow and affec- 
tionate emotions of which I was at once the witness and the 
sharer. But I may say, of the humbler mourners, that his 
faithful housekeeper was fairly heart-broken ; that the poor bar- 
ber would not be comforted ; and that I shall respect the 
homely truth and warmth of heart of Mr. Weller and his 
son to the last moment of my life. 

“ And the sweet old creetur, sir,” said the elder Mr. Weller 
to me in the afternoon, “ has bolted. Him as had no wic§, 
and was so free from temper that a infant might ha’ drove him, 
has been took at last with that ’ere unawoidable fit o’ staggers 
as we all must come to, and gone off his feed forever ! I see 
him,” said the old gentleman, with a moisture in his eye, which 
could not be mistaken, — “ I see him gettin’, every journey, more 
and more groggy ; I says to Samivel, 1 My boy ! the Gray’s a 
goin’ at the knees’ ; and now my predictions is fatally werified, 
and him as I could never do enough to serve or show my likin’ 
for, is up the great uniwersal spout o’ natur’.” 

I was not the less sensible of the old man’s attachment be- 
cause he expressed it in his peculiar manner. Indeed, I can 
truly assert of both him and his son, that notwithstanding the 
extraordinary dialogues they held together, and the strange 
commentaries and corrections with which each of them illus- 
trated the other’s speech, I do not think it possible to exceed 
the sincerity of their regret ; and that I am sure their thought- 
fulness and anxiety in anticipating the discharge of many little 
offices of sympathy, would have done honor to the most delicate- 
minded persons. 

Our friend had frequently told us that his will would be 
found in a box in the Clock-case, the key of which was in 
his writing-desk. As he had told us also that he desired it to 
be opened immediately after his death whenever that should 
happen, we met together that night for the fulfilment of his re- 
quest. 

We found it where he had told us, wrapped in a sealed 
paper, and with it a codicil of recent date, in which he named 
Mr. Miles and Mr. Pickwick his executors, — as having no need 


M A S TER HUMP HR E Y ’S CL O CRT. 


593 


of. any greater benefit from his estate, than a generous token 
(which he bequeathed to them) of his friendship and remem- 
brance. 

After pointing out the spot in which he wished his ashes 
to repose, he gave to “his dear old friends,” Jack Redburn 
and myself, his house, his books, his furniture, — in short, all 
that his house contained ; and with this legacy more ample 
means of maintaining it in its present state than we with our 
habits and at our terms of life, can ever exhaust. Besides 
these gifts, he left to us, in trust, an annual sum of no insignifi- 
cant amount, to be distributed in charity among his accustomed 
pensionors— they are a long list — and such other claimants on 
his bounty as might from time to time present themselves. 
And as true charity not only covers a multitude of sins, but in- 
cludes a multitude of virtues, such as forgiveness, liberal con- 
struction, gentleness and mercy to the faults of others, and the 
remembrance of our own imperfections and advantages, he 
bade us not inquire too closely into the venial errors of the 
poor, but finding that they were poor, first to relieve and then 
endeavor — at an advantage — to reclaim them. 

To the housekeeper he left an annuity, sufficient for her 
comfortable maintenance and support through life. For the 
barber, who had attended him many years, he made a similar 
provision. And I may make two remarks in this place : first, 
that I think this pair are very likely to club their means to- 
gether and make a match of it ; and secondly, that I think my 
friend had this result in his mind, for I have heard him say, 
more than once, that he could not concur with the generality of 
mankind in censuring equal marriages made in later life, since 
there were many cases in which such unions could not fail to 
be a wise and rational source of happiness to both parties. 

The elder Mr. Weller is so far from viewing this prospect 
with any feelings of jealousy, that he appears to be very much 
relieved by its contemplation ; and his son, if I am not mis- 
taken, participates in this feeling. We are all of opinion, how- 
ever, that the old gentleman’s danger, even at its crisis, was 
very slight, and that he merely labored under one of those 
transitory weaknesses to which persons of his temperament are 
now and then liable, -and whidh become less and less alarming 
at every return, until they wholly subside. I have no doubt he 
will remain a jolly old widower for the rest of his life, as he has 
already inquired. of me, with much gravity, whether a writ of 
habeas corpus would enable him to settle his property upon 
Tony bevond the possibility of recall ; and has, in mv presence, 

3§ 


594 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


conjured his son, with tears in his eyes, that in the event of his 
ever becoming amorous again, he will put him in a strait-waist- 
coat until the fit is passed, and distinctly inform the lady that 
his property is “made over.” 

Although I have very little doubt that Sam would dutifully 
comply with these injunctions in a case of extreme necessity, 
and that he would do so with perfect composure and coolness, 

I do not apprehend things will ever come to that pass, as the 
old gentleman seems perfectly happy in the society of his son, 
his pretty daughter-in-law, and his grandchildren, and has 
solemnly announced his determination to “ take arter the old 
’un in all respects;” from which I infer that it his intention 
to regulate his conduct by the model of Mr. Pickwick, who will 
certainly set him the example of a single life. 

I have diverged for a moment from the subject with wfliich 
I set out, for I know'' that my friend w 7 as interested in these little 
matters, and I have a natural tendency to linger upon any topic 
that occupied his thoughts or gave him pleasure and amuse- 
ment. His remaining wishes are very briefly told. He desired 
that v r e would make him the frequent subject of our conversa- 
tion ; at the same time, that we v'oulcl never speak of him with 
an air of gloom or restraint, but frankly, and as one whom w r e 
still loved and hoped to meet again. He trusted that the old 
house would wear no aspect of mourning, but that it w T ould be 
lively and cheerful; and that we would not remove or cover 
up his picture, which hangs in our dining-room, but make it our 
companion as he had been. His own room, or place of meet- 
ing, remains, at his desire, in its accustomed state ; our seats 
are placed about the table as of cld ; his easy-chair, his desk, 
his crutch, his footstool, hold their accustomed places, and the 
clock stands in its familiar corner. We go into the chamber 
at stated times to see that all is as it should be, and to take 
care that the light and air are not shut out, for on that point 
he expressed a strong solicitude. Cut it was his fancy that the 
rpartment should not be inhabited ; that it should be religiously 
preserved in this condition, and that the voice of his old com- 
panion should be heard no more. 

My own history may be summed up in very few' w r ords ; and 
even those I should have spared the reader but for my friend’s 
illusion to me some time since. I have no deeper sorrow than 
the loss of a child, — an only daughter, who is- living, and who 
fled from her father’s house but a few weeks before our friend 
and I first met. I had never spoken of this even to him, be- 
cause I have always loved her, and I could not bear to tell him 


MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 


595 


of her error until I could tell him also of her sorrow and regret. 
Happily I was enabled to do so some time ago. And it will 
not be long, with Heaven’s leave, before she is restored to me ; 
before I find in her and her husband the support of my declin- 
ing years. 

For my pipe, it is an old relic of home, a thing of no great 
worth, a poor trifle, but sacred to me for her sake. 

Thus, since the death of our venerable friend, Jack Red- 
burn and I have been the sole tenants of the old house ; and, 
day by day, have lounged together in his favorite walks. Mind- 
ful of his injunctions, we have long been able to speak of him 
with ease and cheerfulness, and to remember him as he would 
be remembered. From certain allusions which Jack has 
dropped, to his having been deserted and cast off in early life, I 
am inclined to believe that some passages of his youth may 
possibly be shadowed out in the history of Mr. Chester and his 
son, but seeing that he avoids the subject, I have not pursued it. 

My task is done. The chamber in which we have whiled 
away so many hours, not, I hope, without some pleasure and 
some profit, is deserted ; our happy hour of meeting strikes no 
more ; the chimney-corner has grown cold ; and Master Hum- 
phrey’s Clock has stopped forever. 














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LOVELL’S LIBRARY -CATALOGUE, 


113. More Words About the Bible, } 

by Rev. Jas. S. Bush 20 ' 

114. Monsieur Leeoq, Gaboriau Pt. I. .20 

Monsieur Leeoq, Pt. II. . 20 

115. An Outline of Irish History, by 

Justin H. McCarthy .10 

116. The Lerouge Case, by Gaboriaa. .20 

117. Paul Clifford, by Lord Lytton. . .20 

118. A Ne\V5tf ase of Life, by About. . 20 

119. Bourbon Lilies...... 20 

120. Other People s Money, Gaboriau.20 

121. The Lady of Lyons, Lytton. ..10 

122. Ameline de Donrg 15 

123. A Sea Queemjjy W. Russell. ...20 

124. The Ladies Lindores, by Mrs. 

Oliphant ". . .20 

125. Haunted Hearts, by Simpson. ...10 

126. Lors ! ord Beresford, by The 

Duchess 20 

127. Under Two Piags, Ouida, Pt. I. . 15 

Under Two Flags, Pt. II 15 

128. Money by Lord Lytton 10 

129. In Peril of His Life, by Gaboriau.20 

130. India, by Max Miiller. 20 

131. Jets and Flashes 20 

132. Moonshine and Marguerites, by 

The Duchess., ... ...10 

133. Mr. Scarborough’s Family, by 

Anthony Trollope. Parti 15 

Mi Scarborough's Family, Pt II 15 

134. Arden by A. Mary F. Robinson.r> 

135. The Tower of Percemont 20 

136. Yolande, by Wm. Black 20 

137. Cruel London, by Joseph Hatton.20 

138. The Gilded Clique, by Gaboriau.20 

139. Pike County Folks, E. H. Mott. .20 

140. Cricket on the Hearth 10 

141. Henry Esmond, by '1 hackeray..20 

142. Strange Adventures of a Phae- 

ton. by Wm. Black 20 

143. Denis Duval, by Thackeray 10 

144. Old Curiosity Shop, Dickens, Pt 1.15 
Old Curiosity Shop, Part II. . . .15 

145. Ivanhoe, by Scott, Parti 15 

Ivanhoe, by Scott, Part II 15 

146. White Wings, by Wm. Black. .20 

147. The Sketch Book, by Irvine 20 

143. Catherine, bv W, M Thackeray. 10. 

149. Janet’s Repentance, by Eliot — 10 

150. Barnahy Ruuge, Dickens, Pt I. . 15 

Bamaby Rudge, Part JI 15 

151 . Felix Holt, b/ George Eliot 20 

152. Richelieu, by Lord Lytton 10 

153. Sunrise, by Wm. Black, Parti . 15 
Sunrise, by W T m. Black. Part II. 15 

154. Tour of the World in 80 Days.. 20 

155. Mystery of Orcivai, Gaboriau. . . .20 

156. Lovel. the Widower, by W. M. 

Thackeray 10 

157. Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 

maid. by Thomas Hardy 10 

158. David Copperfleld, Dickens, Pt 1.20 

David Copper field, 'art I! 20 

160. Rienzi, by Lord Lytton, Part I. .15 
Rienzi, by Lord Lytton, Part II. 15 

161. Promise of Marriage, Gaboriau. .10 

162. Faith and Unfaith, by The 

Duchess .20 1 


163. The Happy Man, by Lover... 10 

164. Barry Lyndon, by Thackeray. ...20 

165. Eyre’s Acquittal ..10 

166. Twenty Thousand Leagues Un- 

der the Sea, by Jules Verne — 20 

167. Anti-Slavery Days, by James 

Freeman Clarke 20 

168. Beauty’s ' Daughters, by The 

Duchess 20 

169. Beyond the Sunrise 20 

170. Hard Times, by Charles Dickens.20 

171. Tom,Cringle’s Log, by M. Scott. .20 

172. Vanity Fair, by W.M. Thackeray. 20 

173. Underground Russia, Stepniak..20 

174. Middlemarch, by Elliot, Pt I.... 20 

Middlemarch, Part II 20 

175. Sir Tom, by Mrs. Oliphant 20 

176. Pelham, by Lord Lytton 20 

177. The Story of Ida 10 

178. Madcap Violet, by Wm. Black.. 20 

179. The Little Pilgrim 10 

180. Kilmeny, by Wm. Black 20 

181. Whist, or Bumblepuppy ? 10 

182. The Beautiful Wretch, Black.... 20 

18 3. Her Mother’s Sin, by B. M. Clay. 20 

184. Green Pastures and Piccadilly, 

by Wm. Black 20 

185. The Mysterious Island, by Jules 

Verne, Part 1 15 

The Mysterious Island, Part II. .15 
The Mysterious Island, Part III. 15 

186. Tom Brown at Oxford, Part I. . .15 
Tom Brown at Oxford, Part II. . 15 

187. Thicker than Water, by J. Payn.2 ) 
183. In Silk Attire, by Wm. Black. . .20 

189. Scottish Chiefs. Jane Porter, Pt.I.2Q 

Scottish Chiefs, Part 11 20 

190. Willy Reilly, by Will Carleton..£0 

191. The Nautz Family, by Shelley .20 

192. Great Expectations, by Dickens.20 

193. P .ndennis.by Thackeray. Part 1.20 
Pendennis,by Thackeray ,Pai 1 11.20 

194. Widow Bedott Papers . . 20 

195. Daniel Deronda,Geo. Eliot, Pt. 1.20 

Daniel Deronda, Part II 20 

196. AltioraPeto, by Oliphant 20 

197. By the Gate of the Sea, by David 

Christie Murray . . 15 


198. 

199. 


200 . 

201 , 


202 . 

203. 

204. 

205. 

206. 

207. 

208. 


Tales of a Traveller, by Irving. . .20 
Life and Voyages of Columbus, 
by Washington Irving, Part I.. 20 
Life fTnd Voyages of Columbus, 
by Washington Irving, Part 11.20 

The Pilgrim s Progress. . . 20 

Martin Chuzzlewit,' by Charles 

Dickens, Part 1 20 

Martin Chuzzlewit, Part II 20 

Theophrastus Such, Geo. Eliot. . . 90 
Disarmed, M. Betham-Ed wards.. 15 
Eugene Aram, by Lord Lytton. 20 
The Spanish Gypsy and Other 

Poems, by George Eliot 20 

Cast Up by the Sea. Baker ...... 20 

Mill on the Floss, Eliot, Pt. I. ..15 

Mill on the Floss, Part II 15 

Brother Jacob, and Mr. Gilfll’s 
Love Story, by George Eliot. . .10 
Wrecks in the bea of Life 80 


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